Strangled
by padfoot092
Summary: Despite being a Career, Finnick has no desire to compete in the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. A stroke of bad luck later, he's reaped. Finnick's good looks help him appeal to the Capitol, but his fellow tributes are less impressed. With no Careers to ally with, and the girl from District 4 eagerly anticipating the opportunity to slaughter him, the odds may not be in his favor.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: With this, I'm trying to be as true to the books as possible, concerning accuracy for the characters and their histories. I have taken a few liberties, however. The most obvious is Finnick's character, who is ten years younger here and therefore not the same person we meet in _Catching Fire_. Read with an open mind and (hopefully) enjoy. Also other than some minor spoiler's for Finnick's character, this story is spoiler free. **

Strangled

Chapter 1

I feel most at home when I'm in the water. Even now, with the dreaded reaping day so soon, once I dive in the sway of the water calms me. I resurface, and the sun warms my face. If I feel lucky for anything, it's that the sun rarely leaves us here in District 4.

"Finnick! Finnick!"

I look to the shore and there's Zeke, jumping up and down and waving his arms in the air.

I swim to the shore. The salt stings my back, but I ignore the burning. This is why I went for a swim in the first place, to heal the lash wound on my back that I got when my father whipped me with his belt. Only after he started did he remember that the reaping was coming up, and by then he'd already drawn blood.

I swim to shore. When I reach the beach I rake my hands through my hair, shaking out droplets of water. I'd run out of my house so fast that I hadn't the time to grab a towel. I pick up my shirt, which I'd left behind on the sand before going in. It's warm from sitting under the sun. I dab my face with my shirt, not worrying and now it's damp with salt water. It doesn't matter. I was going to have to wash it anyway; it's got a dark red blood stain on the back.

Zeke is fifteen, a year older than me but much smaller. He seems to be cursed with a forever scrawny body no matter how many years he spends training. The rest of us Careers have turned our bodies into killing machines in preparation for the Games.

Zeke is so upset he's actually shaking. "Did your father…you know?" he ask.

I shrug, pretending I don't care that my father beat me. Pretending that I don't care that he's beaten me before. "Only a little bit. He remembered that the reaping is next week, and that I can't afford any injuries," I say, and I even manage to force a smile.

Zeke smiles back. We pretend that we're just like all the other Careers, that the Hunger Games is the most anticipated event of the year for us. "I'm so sorry," Zeke says.

We had training today, just like we've had every day for the last few months leading up to the reaping. Today we had to fight in combat, and I was paired to fight with Zeke. He usually gets clobbered during training, and then is always sent to the hospital to get patched up again. I didn't want to give him yet another trip to the hospital, so I went easy on him. My father inevitably found out about this since it was the talk of the Careers and our trainers, and that's when he beat me. He has high expectations for me. I have to do what he never got to do: volunteer as tribute for the Hunger Games and then win.

I dismiss his apology with a wave of my hand. "It's no big deal, Zeke. Really."

But this isn't enough for Zeke. "You shouldn't have helped me, really. I'm...I'm a loser."

I frown. "Don't say that," I say, because really, if he's a loser then so am I.

I may be the strongest Career, but I've never been able to truly be one of them. I'm as strong as the others, but not competitive. I don't have that drive, that need to win. In a way, this makes me the weakest Career of all despite my physical strength. Except I don't know how to be or do anything other than a bad Career. If I'm not mentally strong enough to compete in the Hunger Games, the competition that I've spent my whole life training for, then I'm useless. My father would agree, and his greatest disappointment in life is the fact that I've never had the mentality of a true Career.

Zeke and I leave the beach and back to the center of the district. We go our separate ways. I enter my home with the intention of leaving as soon as possible. I just want to get my fishing gear and go out there one more time before the day ends. But my father has other plans for me. He's sitting at the table rubbing his hands together anxiously when I come in. When he sees me he pushes his chair back and stands.

"Come here," he says. I cautiously approach him.

To me, my father is one of the saddest sights I've ever seen. Trained from childhood to be a Career, he was determined to win the Games and bring home the glory. He was a front runner too, ranked first out of all the boy Careers, but then the year he was supposed to compete, when he was sixteen, he became very sick. He was given the proper treatment, but declared too sick to compete in the Games. He could not volunteer as a tribute, and lost everything he'd ever worked for. Between the illness, the misfortune he experienced at such a young age, and his frustration with our dysfunctional family, my father has the look of a beaten down, broken man. He even looks about ten years older than he actually is.

"Went for a swim?" he asks.

_No, I went to go get baptized. Surprise,_ I think dryly, referring to a practice that is considered part of the "old ways". No one really has any figures to worship anymore, because it's considered a betrayal to the one thing you must worship the most: Panem.

"Yes, sir," I say.

"Need that cleaned?" he asks, gesturing to my shirt.

I nod and hand him my shirt. He holds one sleeve in either hand, examining it. "I'll take care of it," he says.

After my mother left, my father had to take on what he considers to be "womanly chores". At first he was clueless when it came to cooking and cleaning, or at least that's what he tells me. I wouldn't know, because my mother left when I was an infant for a man from the Capitol; a tour guide who was giving people a tour of our district. He found some downtime to spare a conversation or two with her. It didn't take long for my mother to decide that this wealthy man was a lot more promising than my father, who she was only engaged to because she'd just given birth to me. I don't really blame my mother for leaving my father, but I still haven't quite accepted the fact that she didn't think to take me with her.

"Thank you, sir," I murmur, not looking him in the eyes.

My father gently turns me around and observes my back. His fingers graze my wound, and I resist the urge to flinch. "It's not so bad. It should heal in time for the reaping," he says. He feels guilty now, I know. My father doesn't hit me that often, but when he does lose his temper and hit me, he always regrets it later.

He turns me around again. Then he drapes my shirt over the chair he was sitting in. He places a hand under my chin. "I'm sorry," he says. I know that he's more worried about the fact that I have to be in the best shape possible for the Hunger Games next week than he is about causing me pain. I _have_ to do what he never could. It's practically the reason my father decided to have a child in the first place.

My father pushes my chin up, forcing me to look at him. "You'll be fine, right?"

"I think so," I say.

He wraps his arms around me. They are like two thin tree limbs. His body is still worn from his illness even after so many years.

"I'm so proud of you," he says. This is also kind of a big deal, since my father usually just accuses me of being too soft compared to the other Careers. "I know it's going to be you."

"Unless it's Tyler," I say, referring to the other Career tribute that was selected.

In most districts, volunteering is pretty straight forward since it's basically a death wish. But here in District 4 the rules have to be different. Every year all the Careers are ranked in order of strongest to weakest. The lower your ranking, the more miserable the trainers and other Careers make your life. You're beaten regularly, mocked, more likely to be punished. The rest of the district also shuns you. Some food stores in the market will even refuse to serve you. I had to deal with all of that when I was twelve. I tried to endure, but you can only bend so much before you break.

One day an older Career tied my hands behind my back and ordered me to eat with my mouth like a dog. I refused until he force fed me the food. I'd had it after that. I decided I wasn't going to be a victim anymore. When I was thirteen I was ranked in the top twenty-five.

I worked hard to rank high in training. The more I impressed the trainers, the less the older Careers bothered me. It got to the point where I became a threat to the Careers who used to abuse me, and I enjoyed that. I was starting to think like a real Career, where I enjoyed the fight and the competition. The wake up call came when the rankings were announced this year. I never expected to be ranked first at fourteen. That's pretty much unheard of at my age. There are so many other Careers that I assumed the older ones would place higher. Shows how much I know. The top two males and the top two females are the ones granted permission to volunteer. Tyler is number two.

"It's going to be you," my father says, eyes hard with determination. "I just know it."

"Yeah, maybe," I say, though my chances are very likely. If the tribute selected has a last name that begins with the letters A through M, I must volunteer for him. If his last name begins with the letters N through Z, then Tyler volunteers.

There's another rule that's meant to keep force even the weakest Careers to fight. The two lowest ranked Careers for the boys and girls are _required_ to compete if reaped as punishment. Zeke is ranked second to last for the boys, which is why the he is terrified for the reaping this year.

"Going fishing now?" my father asks.

I nod. "Came back for the gear," I say. I try to exchange as few words with my father as I can on a regular basis.

I walk past the living room, past the mantle with the picture of my mother. I know from this picture that my bronze hair and sea green eyes are from her. This is the only picture of her I have ever seen, frozen in time fourteen years ago. I open the back door. My fishing gear is stored in the shed outside.

"Finnick," my father says.

"Yes?" I ask, stopping at the door.

"Get to bed early tonight," he says. "You're going to need to be as well rested as possible for the Games."

This sends a fresh wave of terror through me. Even after I clawed my way to the top, I still can't handle the pressure. I must be the worst, most pathetic highest ranked Career in all the sixty-five years we've had the Games.

"Yes, sir," I say, and head out to the shed.

* * *

><p>Another year. Another reaping.<p>

It's funny how it's the children from the Career districts who are the safest from the Games. They know that if their name is drawn, a Career will volunteer for them. The reaping for us is just meant to decide which of the top two Careers will compete.

As we're lined up I pass by Zeke. He looks like he's about to faint, but really he has little to worry about. Sure he'll have to compete if he's called, but his name is only in there four times. Four slips of paper out of thousands. As opposed to me, where my name is in there for every single boy whose last name begins with the first half of the alphabet.

The reaping begins. We hear about the history of Panem, the rebellion, the formation of the Hunger Games. People are talking but it all goes right over my head. I can't hear anything but the slamming of my heart in my chest.

I could just refuse to volunteer, but I've already decided that I won't do that. Tyler will volunteer, because he desperately wants the glory of winning the Games. Even if he didn't want to compete, since he's a Career it wouldn't even occur to him that he can, you know, break the rules and not volunteer. This thought has occurred to me, but I can't do it. If someone from my half of the alphabet is called, the poor kid will be expecting me to volunteer and save his life. If I don't, I'm sentencing him to death, and I can't live with myself if I do that, even if he is a Career. Not to mention that if I didn't, the entire district would treat me even worse than they did when I was twelve.

Pan, our escort, takes the stage. His eyes are a different color every year, and this year they are bright orange. And bigger too, I think. He must've gotten surgery.

"Welcome, District Four, the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games!" he says into the microphone in a booming voice, his accent clipping his words and hissing each_ s_. The crowd goes crazy, cheering, clapping, stomping their feet.

"That's the spirit I know and love from this district!" Pan says, so proud to be an escort to one of the wealthiest districts. Imagine if he worked for a place like District 12, poor and filled with starving children, how unpleasant his job would be. Imagine.

"Enough chatter. Let's get straight to the good part! Happy Hunger Games and," Pan says, and here the crowd joins in to recite the slogan with him, "may the odds be ever in your favor!"

There's more applause, and then Pan goes over to the bowl with the boys' names. I can almost see my name over and over, on half the slips. _Finnick Odair. Finnick Odair. Finnick Odair._

_Please, no. Please, please. Please not me._

Pan fishes around in the bowl. He returns to the microphone. "Our boy tribute is..." I'm so nervous that I only hear the last name, Patterson.

Patterson! It's the second half of the alphabet. Patterson. Not me.

Then my stomach drops. Patterson. Zeke Patterson.

Not Zeke. He'll die within seconds. This is a death sentence. For the first time, I understand what the weaker districts go through every year, watching their children walk up the stage to their deaths.

The crowd goes crazy. It's been years since one of the lowest ranking Careers has been called. I'm not sure that my father has even been alive to witness it. I watch Zeke walk to the stage, but he can barely carry himself. I can't hear over the screaming protests of the crowd, but I know that Zeke is crying.

Pan has to yell, "Silence!" at least ten times before everyone finally quiets down. Zeke is now on the stage, tears streaming down his face. He grabs Zeke by the wrist and lifts his arm in the air. "The winner is Zeke Patterson!" There's more protests, but they're quiet, muffled. "Now, would anyone like to volunteer as tribute?"

Everyone is painfully quiet. These are the rules, the way it must be done. No one wants Zeke to go in. They want to see District 4 bring home a winner, not Zeke's body in a casket. But these are the rules, and the only way for this system to work is to follow them. I'm waiting, silently begging, for someone with authority to speak out against this. But these are the Careers we're talking about here. We're raised to live and die by the rules, to do anything else is a great dishonor. So there's no sound except Zeke's choked sobs.

"All right then! Let's move onto the girls then!" Pan says.

My heart is beating faster than ever. No, this can't be happening. No one deserves this less than Zeke.

Pan walks back to the microphone, and I've already made my decision. I must, once again, be an outcast among the Careers. I will never forgive myself if I don't do this, and for once the fact that I'm not good enough to be a real Career is going to help matters. I push past the other boys, ignoring their glares, and race down the center aisle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the female tribute—" Pan says.

"Wait! Wait!" I scream.

Pan is shocked. He looks at me with his bright orange eyes, unable to comprehend what I can possibly be doing.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I say.

"What?" cries Pan into the microphone, and again the crowd reacts.

I say it again, loudly so that he can hear me over the chorus of all the other voices, "I volunteer as tribute."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Right now, I'm aiming to update this weekly, and the story will probably be around 15-17 chapters. **

Chapter 2

I get up on stage and the reaction is mixed with too many different opinions. Some are protesting, others are cheering me on, and then more still are too confused to decide what they think.

"What is your name?" asked Pan.

"Finnick. Finnick Odair," I say into the microphone, my trembling voice projected for all of District 4 to hear.

"Ladies and gentlemen our volunteer!" says Pan with a dramatic wave of his hand in my direction. He isn't as sure of the rules at this point, but is just trying to get the crowd under control again.

And then something happens. It seems that, upon looking at me, I have won much of the crowd over. The more jealous Careers, who realize that they should've jumped on the opportunity like I did aren't swayed, but the others have decided that I am a more suitable candidate. I'm not sure why the crowd now favors me, probably because I've shaken things up around here. I've dared to break the rules, and that makes me exciting. Everyone loves drama; this is Panem after all. And besides rules or not, they want to send a promising tribute into the arena. The sound of cheering overpowers the protests, until most of the district is cheering me on.

Pan, now completely at a loss of what to do, goes over to mayor. They speak hastily, the mayor yelling in Pan's ear so that he can hear what she says. Then he returns to the microphone. "The mayor has approved of this volunteer request," he says, and the crowd approves. I try to find Tyler's face in the audience, but there are too many kids in the crowd. I know that he must be furious.

Pan grabs me by the wrist and throws my arm in the air. "Our new winner is, Finnick Odair!"

The crowd screams, cheering and chanting. Yes, they're saying. This is what everyone wants. A top ranked Career. It's too bad that they don't know I'm a fake. I may be strong, but I'm hardly a better Career than Zeke. I swallow and stare out into the adoring audience.

_T__hey're cheering for my death, _I think.

* * *

><p>Later when I'm brought to the Justice Building, I don't even remember the name of the female tribute, though of course I know that it's one of the top two ranked female Careers. I know that I shook her hand, but have no recollection of which girl it was. At the time, I was too busy thinking about my inevitable death.<p>

What did I just do? No, really. _What_ did I just sign up for? Zeke is my friend but…I just volunteered to die. I pace back and forth, chewing my knuckle. The room has big, plush couches and a soft rug beneath my feet. There's a mirror on the wall. I look in the mirror, and I can see the terror written on my face. I stare at my wide, manic eyes, and I'm convinced I'm losing my mind. _You're the first ranked Career,_ I remind myself; hoping that this will somehow calm me. It doesn't, because the boy staring back at me isn't really a Career. Instead of a Career, I see a terrified, pathetic little boy.

I have to, somehow, get it together before the Games begin. I grit my teeth, taking note of the one tooth on the top right that's pushed out and crooked. An imperfection that made me embarrassed to smile when I was younger, but now I hardly notice it. I put on a scowl. There, that's better. But my hands are numb and shaking. I ruffle my hair, just to give my hands something to do. I'm pulling at my hair until the door opens, and by then it's is a mess of golden brown strands sticking out in every direction.

My father comes in. I sit down on the couch, leaning forward with my hands closed together on my knees. My father bends down and takes my face in his hands. I look up. There are tears streaming down his face.

"I'm so proud of you," he says, beaming with pride. I should be enjoying this more. My father has spent most of his life being disappointed in me, but the bottom line is that my father is proud that I am either going to die, or live at the expense of twenty-three other children brutally losing their lives for fun.

"Father, I'm scared," I blurt, even forgetting to call him_ sir_ like he always tells me to. Admitting fear to my father is something I have never done, but this is a desperate situation.

Surprisingly, my father nods to show that he understands. "I know but...this is what you've spent your whole life working for. And now it's finally here. That's cause for celebration, yes?"

"Yes," I say. There's no use in trying to explain to my father that I've never actually wanted to compete in the Hunger Games. He has never understood that. The way I see it, I don't have much time left and this is the first time my father is actually proud of me. I may as well try to enjoy it rather than explain myself. I force a smile.

My father kisses my forehead. "Good luck in there, Finnick."

"Thank you, sir."

"I know you'll be back here soon."

And that's it. My father is gone, absolutely certain that he'll see me again to the point where he doesn't even think to give me a final goodbye, just in case. I wish I could be foolish enough to think that. I can't imagine how he'll react if he sees me die on screen. It's a good thing I'll never have to see it.

When Zeke comes in, he's not crying. He's controlling himself for my sake, which I appreciate a lot. He gives me a loaf of our district's specialty bread, fish shaped and tainted green with seaweed.

"You didn't have to do this," he whispers.

"No, I did," I say, and as much as I've been second guessing myself, I know in my heart that this is true. It was my job as a Career to fill in for the helpless kid who was chosen. The fact that Zeke, according to district rules, would have to compete if reaped doesn't change my responsibility.

"I almost wish you hadn't," Zeke says. "I wish you could let me trade places with you."

"No, if one of us has to go in it should be me," I say.

"You'll get out," Zeke says. Everyone seems to have an awful lot of faith in me.

"I'll try," I say weakly.

We hug goodbye and then he leaves. That's it. No one else will visit me. I have no other family or close friends. I wait for an escort, shaking so hard but unable to stop it. The air in this room is so tight. I feel like I'm suffocating. I take deep, ragged breaths. The door swings open, and I jump.

A small, skinny girl with beautiful auburn hair enters the room. She has sea green eyes like me, but I think her eyes suit her delicate face much better than mine. Then I realize that I know this girl.

"Annie Cresta," I say.

She's surprised that I know who she is. She nods her head. "Hello, Finnick," she says.

Annie. I have no idea what she's doing here. I hardly know her. District 4 is really big. In fact all I know is her name, and that I think she's younger than me, but only by maybe a year. One of her hands is closed in a fist at her side. She's holding something.

"Hi," I say, and then before I could stop myself, "What are you doing here?"

She hesitates to answer.

"I didn't mean it like that. I—" I start to say, but she cuts me off.

"It's okay," she says, holding up a hand to stop me from explaining . "I just came to give you something. A token for you to take to the arena." She opens her fist and places something small in my hand.

It's a fishing lure, one that was made for decoration rather than practical use since there's no hook. The lure is a shimmering red and white fish.

"It's called a koi," explains Annie. "They're not from around here but…they're symbolic of a lot of things I think. Love, good fortune. All good things, at least." She laughs nervously.

I stare at it. Then I look up at her. "Why would you give this to me?" I say pointedly.

Annie tries to keep a neutral expression, but I can tell that I've hurt her. "I thought you could use something to…"

"This is very kind of you," I say, trying to undo the hurt I've just caused her. "I'm just…not sure why you're giving me this."

"I saw what you did back there. We all did, Finnick."

I blink, not understanding. "I'm a Career. Trained to kill in cold blood. What makes you want to give me a token?"

"No, you're not a Career," Annie says.

My chest tightens. I wonder if she isn't the only one who can see right through me. I look down at the token and realize what it represents. She saw my volunteering as a sacrifice, and is honoring me in this small, modest way. She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear and I realize how pretty she is. If she's going to be the last thing I'll ever see in District 4, that's okay. At least it was something pretty.

"Thank you," I say.

Annie nods. She steps forward, and there's an awkward moment where we're not sure if we should hug or shake hands or what. She decides to just wave. Good luck, Finnick," she says.

"Thanks," I say. I hold up the lure. "And thanks for this."

With that, she's gone and I'm on a train off to the Capitol.

* * *

><p>I sit with my head leaning against the window, watching the buildings and trees fly by in a blend of green and gray.<p>

"Finnick Odair," a girl says, her voice an upward inflection.

I look up and there stands Marina Ricci. So she's the female tribute. Now that I see her, I can vaguely remember noticing the way she'd styled her long brown hair into bouncy curls just for reaping day.

"Hi, Marina," I say. I guess she had more people to say goodbye to, because I hadn't seen her when I first boarded the train. Or maybe she just picked a different car to sit in. She sits in the seat across from me.

"You sure know how keep things interesting in District Four, don't you?" she says, her voice high and smooth.

Most of the guys in our district fall head over heels for Marina. They think she's pretty with her big brown eyes, and the splash of delicate freckles on her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. There's also something about her smooth, elegant voice that attracts them.

I don't see it. I don't find her attractive, and I don't buy into her as the poised, proper girl she pretends to be. She's vicious in training. Marina's advantage is that she's so agile. She's short, only about five foot two, but that doesn't set her back. She uses her speed to make up for her small stature. Marina practically glides through water. She's almost as fast as me. Almost. But on land, she really is faster despite the fact that she's smaller. Marina favors fast, rapid attacks over powerful ones. It usually works out very well for her; she's ranked first for the girls.

"I suppose so," I say.

"Well, it was inevitable that you'd be on this train the second you volunteered. I mean, really. Zeke?" Marina laughs and shakes her with put upon weariness. "That pathetic waste of space. You're clearly the better contender. Besides…" Marina breaks off to size me up. "The Capitol would so prefer to watch someone beautiful on screen over Zeke's pig nose."

"What a lovely thing to say, Marina. I trust you'll be sure to use your charm in front of the cameras once we get to the Capitol?" I say dryly.

Marina smirks, then stands. She leans against the car. "Though, it's a shame that something so pretty has to go to waste," she says in that patronizing tone she loves to use. She has four years on me, and that seems to be enough for her to assert superiority over me. "No one wants to watch something so beautiful die in front of an entire country of viewers…on second thought, maybe they won't mind if it's the death is deliciously bloody," she says. Then she leaves to go sit in her own car again.

This is a reminder that I have to impress the other Careers. My advantage is that Careers always band together during the Games, so I'll have a whole group of allies from the start. I can't let my age or even Marina sway their opinion of me. I'm convinced that if I can't get on their good side, I won't be coming back to District 4 alive. I lean against the window and decide it's time to think of some strategies. I don't have much time though, because a few minutes later I have another visitor.

"Finnick, hello," says Mags, a former victor and mentor to District 4. She has pale, cloudy blue eyes, a frail form, and very few strands of brown left in her white hair.

I like Mags a lot. In fact she is my favorite mentor in District 4, and we have an awful lot of them. Most of the others only care about you if they're mentoring you. Mags isn't like that. She pops in on Career training all the time to give advice or even just to say hello. She's always taking a liking to me, probably because I'm top ranked. I do like Mags, but she was my last choice for a mentor. She's so old and weak. I wanted one of the large, stronger mentors. What can she possibly teach me? I clench my fists, seething.

Mags kindly smiles down at me. "You should eat before we get to the Capitol. In fact, you should be eating as much as possible before the Hunger Games. You're not used to knowing what it's like to go without food, like some of the poorer districts are. You'll want to be as well fed as possible before then."

"So you've won the Hunger Games…" I say, pointing out the obvious.

She smiles, and I can see the crinkles around her eyes even clearer. "Yes, a long time ago."

"Okay, then," I say slowly, trying to process this. I haven't even made it to the Capitol yet, and I'm already at a serious disadvantage if this woman is my mentor.

"Just because I'm old doesn't mean I can't help. I'm here to give you knowledge, not fight with you, dear," she says, reading me like a book.

She has a point. Her physical capabilities have next to nothing to do with how she's supposed to help me, but I don't know. There was just something about being approached by this tiny, frail woman that was so discouraging at first glance. Maybe I'm just too nervous to deal with anything right now. I anxiously rip open the bag that Zeke gave me and begin tearing off chunks of bread.

"Right, you're right. So…how does this work?" I ask.

"You play to your advantages of course. Simple as that, but it's preferable if you have a few tricks up your sleeve. You're an excellent swimmer. That's useful, but coming from the fishing district everyone is going to know that about you," said Mags.

I think about Marina. Swift and impossible to outrun on land. No one will expect her to be both a fast swimmer and a fast runner. What can I do? All my skills are frustratingly predictable.

"Well, I can use spears and a trident," I say. "I can fasten nets out of ropes."

Mags nods, but I can see that this isn't good enough. They'll all expect these things of me because, again, I'm from the fishing district.

I exhale in frustration. "I don't have any special, super secret skills," I say.

"There is something—"

"I am not _good_ at anything else," I say, desperately trying to make her see reason, "anything at all. So unless the arena is a giant swimming pool—"

"There will be water in the arena, Finnick," Mags says, and there isn't a trace of doubt in her voice. Not even the slightest.

Maybe it's the way my head won't stop spinning in circles, but for a bizarre moment I'm convinced that Mags is a Gamemaker, or at least friends with one. How else would she know for sure that the arena will have water in it? Why hadn't she bothered to mention this sooner? In the back of my mind though, I know that this thought is completely ridiculous. "How do you know that?" I say. "How could you possibly know what the arena will look like?"

"They're going to play to your advantages, dear. They know that you're going to be a Capitol favorite so there_ will_ be water."

"They've already designed the arena!"

"They can add or remove anything they like at any given time. Seeing you, they'll be sure to have water for you to swim in."

"What makes you think I'm going to be so popular anyway?"

"Well, you're a Career—" Mags starts to say, but I cut her off.

"No, I may be a Career, but the others are way more popular," I say. "I'm not impossibly strong like some Careers are—like Tyler is—or swift like Marina. I'm too young. Too innocent looking, to be a_ real_ Career that's worth anyone's time and money."

But Mags is only shaking her head through my entire explanation. Then she says, "You're forgetting one thing. You do have a talent. It may be useless in the Games, but it is extremely valuable to the people of the Capitol. And you will play off this talent as much as you can."

She's being too cryptic, and I'm only getting more and more frustrated. "What are you _talking_ about?" I ask.

"Beauty. Everyone loves a pretty face. So _that's_ what you're going to use. You may not be the biggest Career but Finnick, you are very, very good looking."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_This is so humiliating,_ I think to myself furiously, having to constantly stop my hands from moving to cover myself. My prep team didn't even bother to introduce themselves to me, so I don't actually know any of their names. They just pushed me into this room and went straight to work. I now stand completely naked in front of a group of circus rejects.

They trimmed my eyebrows into a neat, arched shape, trimmed the hair on and under my arms—because apparently there's an exact length it needs to be. They clipped and cleaned my fingernails. Now they circle me, and it's all sighs of fondness and adoring remarks. Mags was right, the prep team is obsessed with my looks. It'll be the same with the Capitol.

"Those stunning eyes! I love them," hisses a man whose dark brown skin that makes his huge, bright pink hair look even brighter.

"His structure is lovely," says a woman with sequin studs embedded into her skin. She runs her hand down my face and I try not to look as revolted as I feel. "Doesn't he just have the most beautiful cheekbones?"

"His jawline!"

"I can't believe District Four is capable of producing something this lovely!"

"So wonderfully well built!"

They couldn't be more excited to work on me, like opening up a present and finding their favorite doll inside.

The woman with sequined skin says, "Let's see your smile. Smile for us!"

That's near impossible for me to do in this situation, but I try my best. My attempt must be terrifying, because the brightly colored prep team all recoil.

The glittery woman examines my teeth. She gasps. "Oh, my! What's _that?"_ she says in a way that makes me think there is a slug in my mouth.

She touches my tooth. My crooked tooth. Oh, yeah. Of course they're upset about that.

"Well," the pink haired man says with a sigh, "we had to expect _something_ to be wrong, Daphne."

"Put on your robe! Put on your robe!" says Daphne. She doesn't wait for me. Instead, she picks up my robe and forces me into it.

"What are you—" I start to say, but they all push me out the door and into another room with a chair. They don't even let me put on clothes underneath my robe. They shove me into the chair and when I take in my surroundings I realize that I'm about to have oral surgery done. Before I can do anything, my hands and ankles are tied down by the straps on the chair. A man in a white coat comes in. He prepares a syringe.

I'm panicked. This is happening way too fast and I don't have any control over what these people are doing to my body and I can't stand any of it. The man stands over me, pulls up the sleeve of my robe, and stabs the needle into my arm.

Seconds later, my vision goes fuzzy. It's like one of those dreams where you want to run away from something but your legs won't move. I want to slip out of consciousness, but this drug doesn't do that. It's as though my these people know that witnessing this will make me miserable. I watch through the fog in my head as the man forces my mouth open and yanks out my tooth. I don't feel a thing. It's painless, but there's a dull feeling in the back of my head that reminds me of how enraged I am.

By the time the drug wears off, I have a new, perfectly straight tooth to replace the crooked one. This makes me unexplainably sad. That tooth was the source of insecurity when I was younger, but it had become part of who I am. My body isn't mine anymore. It belongs to the Capitol and they will do with it as they please until I go to the Games and it gets destroyed in the arena.

The prep team wastes no time in dragging me back into the first room and stripping my robe off again. They circle me, occasionally poking at a body part to inspect it.

"Let's dye his skin turquoise!" the pink haired man says. "It'll match his beautiful eyes."

"I say we dye it gold. He is the golden boy," another one says with a dreamy sigh.

"Tributes rarely have such complicated surgeries. We should follow that tradition. I think we should keep his classical good looks with just an enhancement procedure. Nothing more," said Daphne.

I'm hopeful of this. I don't want to be the only freak show tribute with purple skin in the arena. Daphne touches just under my eyelid.

"I think we can really bring out the color in his eyes without dying his skin. See, if we just cut a small incision right here and insert—"

Cutting open my eyes is just about all I can handle hearing. I shove her aside with my elbow and retrieve my robe. I quickly tie it back on, push the door open, and race down the hall to the bathroom. I slam the bathroom door shut and lock it, my breathing heavy. I feel as though there's no air in the room, like I'm suffocating.

I'd never really given much thought about the way I look. I mean, I knew I was good looking and comfortable with this fact, but good looks in District 4 are about as useful as a hairbrush is when fishing. My father certainly never cared that his son was handsome. It got me some attention from girls, but girls were also something I never worried about. Something about having a mother leave you behind when she knows that you'll be raised to become a killing machine sort of turns you off girls and the thought of marriage for life. In the Capitol though, my good looks are like a weapon. This is what Mags had promised me. She told me that my good looks would get me very far around here, but right now I'm wishing I could trade them in because this is the last thing I want. I don't want to go back there and endure anymore surgery.

I shove my fist into my mouth and bite down hard. I have the urge to cry, but I don't dare. The hot tears form behind my eyes and I bite down on my fist even harder to force them back. If the tears make my eyes all red and puffy, I'm half convinced that the prep team will want to do surgery to correct that too. I collect myself, and then leave the bathroom again.

When I return, Daphne wears a wounded look and the rest of the team backs away from me, as though I'm too crazy to be close to. I voluntarily strip out of my robe again and mutter, "Sorry."

Daphne sniffles to make me feel guilty, but all it does is make me hate her. Then my stylist comes in. He introduces himself as Sampson, and he is the most bizarre looking of them all. From his seaweed green skin to the tattoos on his face to the glitter in his hair, I take one look at him and think that if my own father is able to recognize me by the time the prep team is through, I'll be lucky.

The prep team runs to Sampson and all give him their ideas at once. Sampson holds up a hand to silence them, and they oblige. I screw my eyes shut, and wait for the verdict.

"This boy is obviously very beautiful, but unfortunately that is what makes him less fun to work with," Sampson says. "He has the kind of face that people get surgery to look like, and that's too special to change. We must keep him the way he is."

I'm so happy I nearly burst out laughing, but the feeling fades pretty quickly. If I get my body ripped apart in the arena, what difference will it make if my hair is brown, blond, or purple? Still, it's a small moment of relief and it helps me get through the rest of my makeover.

* * *

><p>Marina and I ride into the Capitol in matching costumes. I've never worn anything like this before. My shirt isn't really a shirt, because my entire chest and midriff are exposed. I only have long sleeves that cover my arms and go around my neck, and they are made up of shimmering blue scales. Get it? <em>Fish.<em> So clever. I wear a simple pair of light brown pants. Marina has the same look, except her blue top of course covers her breasts, but little is left to the imagination. We hold hands and wave as the Capitol applauds us. I can hear their cheers but that sound is very much muffled by my heart hammering in my ears.

When we're off camera and the Capitol is greeting the next district, Marina turns to me. "You didn't smile," she said.

"I waved," I say.

"But you didn't smile."

"Well next time I'll smile. And do a little dance just for you."

She sneers at me. "I only care because you made _me_ look bad. I thought it was a good thing that I had your pretty boy face next to me. So next time we're on camera force a smile."

It seems that the only thing anyone around here cares to do is comment on the way I look and how it affects their own lives. I don't say anything in respond. I just sneer at her.

"Something like that," Marina says with a scowl.

* * *

><p>My living quarters are more luxurious than anything I've ever seen before. Mags stops by my room as I'm eating dinner. I followed Mags's advice and ordered a large meal. It was amazing how the food came to me seconds later, exactly the way I wanted it. We're well off in District 4, but I can't imagine what it must be like to have any meal you desire at your fingertips at any given time.<p>

Mags stands near the doorway as I eat. She explains to me that training is next, and that I will have to perform in front of the Gamemakers. Then they'll give me a score.

"And after that is the interview. You need to be able to stand out just as much then as you do in training," Mags says.

"I know," I say, shoving a biscuit into my mouth. The food here is delicious.

"That's going to be harder than it seems, dear. You can't rely on your good looks alone for that."

"I thought you said that my looks were my weapon," I say.

"Yes, they are a weapon, but you need more. You need to show the audience who you are, what you're all about. You need a persona."

I think about this for a moment. "Well…I like to swim," I say dryly.

Mags smiles. She has such a kind smile. "That's not quite what I mean, but it's okay. I have a trick up my sleeve. While you were getting prepped and preparing for your entrance today, I made a few calls."

"Calls?" I say, and order a slice of cake. It arrives seconds later. I don't even know what kind of cake it is, nor do I care. The sweet icing melts on my tongue. I could drown in this icing.

"You need to put on a good show, that's what these interviews are. I found someone…someone who can help you put on a show," Mags says.

"Who?" I ask.

The woman who walks in has eyelashes dyed gold with little dabs of glitter attached to them. Her lips are purple, and not from lipstick. I can tell they've been dyed that color. She has been altered to achieve Capitol standards of beauty, but she doesn't look inhuman like my prep team. In fact, aside from the purple lips she's quite pretty. She has pink stripes in her dirty blond hair…and sea green eyes.

I gasp. "How did you…" I say, but I'm so stunned I can't even finish my sentence.

This woman is my mother.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

At first I have to do a double take because she doesn't quite resemble the woman in the picture at my house. Besides all the crazy alterations that she's had done in the Capitol, she has also aged fourteen years. I try to convince myself that it isn't her. But no, looking at those sea green eyes is like looking into a mirror and seeing my own eyes. She is unmistakably my mother.

My instinct is to run, run as far away from this woman as I can, because I can't handle any kind of confrontation with her. A deep, burning anger that I've buried in the back of my mind for years emerges. I set my fork down, my appetite gone.

"Finnick," my mother says. She approaches me, and I back away. She stops and frowns. "My son, all grown up," she says, looking at me with maternal love. Love she has never had any right to feel. She reaches out to touch my cheek.

I jerk away from her. "Don't touch me," I say heatedly, getting a twisted satisfaction from seeing her hurt. I turn to Mags and fix her with a glare. "What is this? Why did you bring her here? I don't want to see her."

Mags holds up her hands, signaling for me to calm down. "Listen to me. She is the perfect way to gain sympathy from the Capitol, Finnick."

"Sympathy? How is a mother who abandons her son sympathetic?"

"She is when she reunites with him on TV in front of the entire nation and, of course, when we tweak the story a bit. We're going to have your interviewer, Caesar Flickerman, ask about your family. You'll say that your mother gave you up to go to the Capitol and find a good job so that she could provide for you financially. By the time she gained a decent amount of wealth, she saw that you had such a happy life with your father in District Four—"

I scoff, interrupting her. "Oh, yeah. My father is a real winner."

"And she didn't want to mess it up," Mags continues as though I've said nothing.

"So you want me to stage a reunion with her. On _TV?_ In front of all of Panem? I can't do that," I say. Mags's plan only makes me more panicked.

"And then you'll announce to Panem that you're determined to win the Games so that you can get to know the woman who is your mother. It's the perfect gimmick to get people to want to sponsor you, to care about you enough so that they'll want to see how your relationship with her unfolds."

I shake my head furiously. "No. No, no, no, no. I'm not going to do this." I am determined to make Mags see my point, mostly because I can see how right she is. This is really is the perfect gimmick, but I can't bear to admit that.

_ "This_ is how you win over an audience, Finnick."

"What happened to winning them over with good looks? I'll be funny, I'll be witty. I'll get that stupid eye surgery my prep team wanted me to do. Anything but this."

"None of that is enough!" Mags says. "You have to stand out from twenty-three other people who are just as capable of being funny and witty as you are. Your good looks are helpful, yes, but you need more."

"Finnick, it's not a gimmick for me," my mother says. I'm about to tell her to shut up, but she continues, "I do want you to survive…so that I can get to know you. I want you to be my son."

_ Too little, too late,_ I think. But I only look at Mags in desperation. "I can't cry on command like that."

"You don't have to cry. You just have to pretend it's the happiest moment of your life," says Mags.

"Well, I can't do that either!"

"You _have_ to! Do you think this is all a joke, Finnick? This is your life I'm trying to save here!" Mags says. She grabs me by the shoulders, looks me in the eyes. "I will not let you die in that arena. You are coming _back._ Do you hear me? I am not watching you die."

My mouth hangs open in surprise. That was beyond her job as a mentor. Far beyond it. She seemingly cares about me enough to bring me out of this alive. But then, what about Marina? She seems to favor me over her. But why? Why am I so special to her?

Better not to question it. She's right. This isn't a joke. This is just something I have to get through.

"What are you going to do for Marina? Have her help a dog give birth to puppies on stage?" I mutter.

Since I haven't argued, Mags takes my last remark as cooperation. "Good. Tomorrow you train with weapons, but after that we'll practice your reunion."

"I hate this," I say, just to be difficult.

Mags reaches out and strokes my hair. I feel awkward at such a display of affection, because that's something I'm not familiar with. I don't understand this woman, why she seems to have taken such a liking to me. "I'm sorry to spring this on you, dear," she says. She turns to my mother. "But this is the best chance you have."

"Thank you for calling me, Mags," my mother says. She hesitates before saying, "Do you mind if I have a moment alone with my son?"

_ "_My_ son."_ As if she has any claim to me. I desperately want Mags to stay, but she doesn't seem to notice. Mags nods and silently leaves the room.

I don't say anything, I just stare at my feet. As a little kid, I'd always wished that I would meet my mother. I dreamed of the day she'd return to the district, take me in her arms, and save me from my father. This dream was hard to hold onto when I began my Career training. It died completely when I was twelve and the other Careers began doing everything they could to make me miserable. If my mother was a woman who could leave me to a district that wanted to turn me into their weapon, to a world where I risked being killed on screen for entertainment, then I didn't want her in my life.

I realize that there are questions I am aching to ask her. Why did she leave me? Did she ever think about me while she was living a wealthy, extravagant life in the Capitol? Was she here now for fifteen minutes of fame, or because she genuinely wants to help me? But I don't dare ask any of these questions. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of my concern for her.

My mother must sense my resistance because the first thing she says is, "Finnick…can we please talk?"

And I picture the two of us onstage, and her hugging me in front of all of Panem. And I am ready to scream. I want to pull my hair out and scream until my throat goes hoarse. I don't want her here. This is the worst possible timing. I'm about to go into an arena to die, I'm up against tributes older and stronger than I am, and now she's here. This is too much. Too much. She's the breaking point.

"Go away," I say thinly. I walk back to my dinner and grip my hand around a mug that contains coffee, a drink I recently discovered that I love.

"Finnick, my son, please—"

I lift the mug and chuck it as hard as I can against the wall. The mug shatters upon impact and brown liquid drips down the wall. _"I said go away!"_ I scream.

My mother looks like she is ready to cry, but she obliges. She hurries out of the room without another word. I sink down to the floor, leaning my back against the wall. Alone, I finally allow myself to cry. The hot tears slide down my cheeks and I can hardly breathe, I'm crying so hard.

The door slowly opens. I turn, prepared to scream at my mother again, but it's Mags. That's no good. I don't want her to see me crying, but it's impossible to stop the tears. Mags sits on the edge of the bed, and gently places my head in her lap. She strokes my hair again.

I don't say anything. I just cry. Mags shushes me gently, murmurs words of comfort, and continues to stroke my hair.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I come down early for breakfast the next day, not expecting anyone to be there yet. I'm hoping to eat and get to training before my mother tries to talk to me again. But when I get to the table I'm not alone. Mags is there. I stand unmoving, not sitting down. I can't decide what to make of her. On the one hand I'm so angry with her, for forcing me to not only have a reunion with the mother I never wanted, but also to stage a reunion on live television. On the other hand, she saw me in my weakest, most vulnerable state, and stood by me. She cares about me, obviously more than Marina. I stay standing, arms folded behind my back. I distract myself from Mags by running my tongue over my new, fake tooth. It feels so different from the others, from the crooked one that the Capitol yanked out of my mouth. It feels smoother.

"Good morning," says Mags.

I give in and sit down. "Good morning," I say. I can't look her in the eyes, I'm too embarrassed. Last night I let her hold me and sooth me as though I was still a small child. I know I think this a lot, but I must be the _worst_ high ranking Career in history.

I tried to get a good night's sleep then, but I was plagued with bad dreams through most of the night. Dreams of an arena I hadn't yet seen, of a tribute smashing my head in, of my mother walking out on me all over again. That last one left me pretty conflicted, made me realize that I wasn't as detached from her as I want to be.

"I'm sorry I threw this all on you, dear," Mags says.

"It's fine," I say, pretending to be particularly interested in my food.

"No, it's not. I would never be interfering with your personal, private business if this wasn't a life or death matter. I never would have done this if I wasn't convinced that it was just the thing you need to give you an edge…Finnick, please look at me."

I oblige, and look up at her. Her wrinkled face has concern written all over it. "It's okay. I understand why you did it," I say. I set my fork down and grit my teeth. "It's just…_her._ I don't know how to deal with her being here."

"I know, but the thing is you have to figure out how to deal with it soon. Your interview will be here before you know it. You're going to have to practice, later today. We have to make sure that your reunion with her is completely believable. I don't want a dry eye in the audience when that time comes. It has to be the perfect reunion between mother and son."

"She's not my mother," I snap.

"She_ is_ your mother, Finnick, and she's here for you."

I scoff. "She's here for her fifteen minutes of fame."

Mags shook her head. "No, I spoke to her on the phone before she made the trip here. She wanted to see her son."

I lift my fork again and start playing with my food without actually eating any of it. "Really?" I say, despite my determination to not care.

"I'll admit that the idea of appearing on television isn't completely revolting to her," Mags says with a shrug. "But yes, she's here because of you. She was so excited when she realized that her plan might bring in sponsors for you."

"Can't she sponsor me as much as she wants?" I ask. The idea only just occurs to me, and it's extremely appealing. But if Mags hadn't brought it up yet, then it must not be a possibility.

Predictably, Mags says, "She cannot. Family that live in the Capitol aren't allowed to buy their child into victory. It's not an official rule, but it's one your mother would be better off to dare not break."

"I see," I say

"The Capitol has ways of enforcing rules," she says quietly, "official or not."

Marina stomps into the room, her face red with fury. "Morning," she says to us in a smooth voice, rage just trembling beneath it. She snatches several rolls from the plate in the middle and bites into one. From the way she's looking at me, I'm half-convinced she imagined that the top of that roll was my head.

_Someone knows about my mother,_ I think. That's all I need right now, on top of everything else.

"Listen, Marina, for training today—" Mags starts to say, but Marina cuts her off with a cold, joyless laugh.

"You're going to give me advice, now? How _dare_ you?" Marina snarls. She looks at me then. "How's Mommy?"

"Marina, you already can work the cameras so well. Finnick needs this," Mags says.

"Shut up," Marina says. "You don't want to help, fine, but don't pretend like you give a shit. I don't need your help anyway." She turns to me again, and caresses my hair. She pushes some of my hair into my eyes. "What is it about him, Mags, huh? It can't be just that he's good looking, because I am," she says this without arrogance. She is just stating a fact. She glares at me then. "I can't wait to kill you. I'm eagerly anticipating the opportunity. The Games can't come any faster at this point."

"Marina, I do want to help you," Mags says, but this is completely the wrong thing to say. It only makes Marina angrier.

"Save it, you old witch," she says. Then she says to me, "I look forward to seeing you in the arena, but for now we'll meet up in training, yes? Talk to you later." She grabs more food and leaves to eat in her room.

Mags has one hand held over her mouth, pale eyes wide in horror. "She wants to kill you now, because I've been neglecting her. I can't believe this."

I brush her concern aside. "I suspect that she's been enjoying the idea of killing me since before all this," I say.

"She did some asking around and found out through the serving staff that she's your mother. She doesn't necessarily know about the reunion. I kept that private, but she knows your mother's here to help you gain sponsorship," Mags says. She's gone awfully far for me.

"Mags, I have to ask you something. Why is it me? Why are you so determined to bring me back?" I ask.

Mags bites her lower lip, thinks about this. "When I was in the arena, I was Marina. I was raised as a Career, eager to kill. I was exactly like her. In the arena, I started so many brutal, bloody battles, and won them all. I didn't think twice." Her expression darkens then, as she uncovers a past that is unsettling. "It wasn't until I was out of the arena, and watching all the playback from the Games that I realized what I had done. I had to see what I was doing, from the perspective of the audience, to realize it. I saw what I was…and it shook my beliefs to the core. I never forgave myself for what I did, for what I enjoyed doing. I still haven't forgiven myself."

"So Marina reminds you of yourself," I say.

"It's more than that, Finnick. I've heard your name around District Four before. I saw you at the reaping. You're a Career and yet you…" Mags voice trails off.

This reminds me of what Annie said to me before I came to the Capitol. "I get it. It's because I'm too soft," I say.

Mags takes both of my hands in hers. "No, it's because you're too strong."

I guess there's something to be said about my resistance to take on the life of a real Career. It's always been a source of shame for me as opposed to something to be proud of. This is mostly because of my father's influence. He has never quite been able to handle the fact that I wasn't as ruthless as the other Careers. It certainly is ironic that the moment he was most proud of me was when I abandoned Career rules and took Zeke's place in the Games.

I finish breakfast and prepare for the Training Center. I know I have to perform for the Gamemakers, but I haven't been able to give that much thought with everything else that's been going on. In fact, I don't even know what my strategy should be while I'm in the actual center, but I suppose I should have one for that too. There's always someone watching me, always someone I have to impress.

I ask Mags about the Training Center. "Impress the other Careers," she says. "It's really important that they care about you enough to let you on their team."

Marina will be a problem. She will be actively working to turn them against me. I sigh. It'd be nice if one, just _one_ of these tasks were easy.

"Ready to go?" Mags says.

I nod, and set out for the Training Center.

I spend some time at the knot tying station, only because I need to bide some time and working with my hands helps me ease my mind. Years of fastening ropes into fishing nets has made this all too easy for me to do. After some time has passed the woman at the station sneers at me and says, "Don't you think it's time you moved on?" I guess she's mad that the only person who's spending his time here doesn't even need help.

I leave and scan the room, trying to figure out what to do next. The other Careers are from Districts 1 and 2. I can spot them almost instantly. They are bigger, faster, and all around physically superior to the other tributes. They're also all older than me by at least two years. I need to work hard to impress them. I see two Careers, a boy and a girl, throwing spears at moving targets. That seems to be the best place for me to start, since I'm really good with a spear.

I cross the room to that station. As I go I see a little girl, around twelve, with dark black hair. She is probably the littlest thing I've ever seen, clearly underfed. That and her olive skin tells me that she must come from District 12, which always brings in the least prepared tributes. She is staring at a tray that has about a dozen different knives, with different shaped blades. Her hand hovers over one, then another; considering.

It isn't fair, I think to myself not for the first time. Us Careers are probably about three times her size, well nourished, and have been training for years for this. Meanwhile she most likely has spent her life trying to survive without enough food on a daily basis. As I walk past her I feel disgusted with myself, with the other Careers. I backtrack to her.

"Ever hold one of these before?" I ask, picking up one of the knives she'd been eying.

Her black eyes are wide and fearful. "I'm just looking at them," she says in such a quiet voice I barely hear it.

"This isn't a museum. You can touch the weapons," I joke, though she doesn't laugh. I hold out the knife for her.

"I'm just trying to figure out which one would kill someone the fastest while causing the least amount of pain."

Her comment completely throws me. That she's searching for a way to kill someone quickly makes sense, because she's so small. She can't afford to be in combat with an opponent for very long. But to be worrying about pain, when her life is at risk? It's not that I expect her to be ruthless like a Career. It's just that I can't say the Careers or any of the other powerful tributes around here are going to be too worried about how much pain she feels when they try to kill her.

Is she that compassionate? It doesn't look that way to me. She looks as though she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. "How old are you?" I ask.

"Fourteen," she says.

My jaw drops. She's my age, but she's so small. She must not even be five feet tall. "Well, it doesn't really matter which knife you use. If you strike fast and you're accurate, you'll make the kill," I say.

She gives me a small smile that has very little happiness in it. "Thanks," she says.

I leave to go to the spear station where Careers are. "Mind if I try?" I say, but I don't wait for their permission. I grab a spear and give it a toss. It hits the center of the target.

The girl places her hands on her hips. Her expression seems to never lose its intensity. These are how the Careers are, trained to kill to the point where they're nearly inhuman. "That's pretty good, kid," she says.

I grimace, hating that she actually called me a kid. She is only at most four years older than me. Then again, four years is an awful lot for a Career.

"Watch this, Terra," says the boy. His arms are huge and bulging. He's going to be trouble in the arena. He flips a switch, and the targets move faster. So fast that most tributes here probably wouldn't be able to hit it. He throws a spear and it hits the target at the very edge.

"Nice," Terra says.

I nearly push Terra aside to get another spear, eager to outshine the boy. I pick one up and give it a good throw. It hits just outside the center of the target, a far better shot than the boy's was.

"Interesting," says the boy, as if the fact that I threw better than him means I should be studied under a microscope. Still, I've gotten their attention. That's what matters.

At least, I thought I'd had their attention, but that's not the case when they turn and head for another station. I clench my fists, frustrated. I was clearly better than the other guy. Is my youth really setting me back that much? I pick up another spear, prepared to take my anger out on a target, when a hand closes around my wrist. Marina.

"What are you doing, Momma's boy?" she says.

"I'm just practicing, Marina," I say shortly. "This is the Training Room, if you remember correctly."

She glares at me. "Then why aren't you fixing your hair? You have no use for weapons. All you have is your looks."

I'm sick of her commenting on my appearance. "You can use your good looks too, Marina. Or have you already figured out which of the Gamemakers you can sleep with to get the good score?" I ask sweetly.

Marina is furious. There were many rumors, since she had a history of flirting with one of our trainers, that Marina had slept with him to be ranked first in District 4. Honestly, I don't believe it for a minute. Marina is way too strong, too vicious to have to sleep with someone to be ranked high. Still, it pisses her off whenever someone even suggests it, since a Career's greatest pride is in her physical capabilities.

Marina wraps her hand around my neck and slams me into the wall. Several tributes from other stations turn to watch. Tributes aren't supposed to fight until we get to the arena. I can't breathe, and I'm painfully aware of the others watching us. Marina smirks, triumphant that she has rendered me immobile.

But I can't let her get away with this. I won't. I swing my leg up and kick her in the chest. She stumbles away and I'm free. Marina cries out angrily and swings her fist at me. I knock her arm away and punch her in the gut.

"Hey! Hey!" cries one of the men. He pulls us both away from each other. He considers lecturing us, but lets it go. Probably because we're Careers.

Marina and I stand several feet apart, staring each other diwb. Finally I move away, to a station where the Careers from District 1 are. They boy, I think I remember hearing that his name is Gleam, says, "Ever use a bow and arrow?"

"A couple of times, but I'm not very good," I say.

"Neither are we," says the girl.

"Sprinkle and I have been trying to figure this out, just in case they do something crazy this year and make this the only weapon," says Gleam.

_Sprinkle._ That has to be one of the dumbest District 1 names I've ever heard, and I've heard a lot of pretty stupid ones after watching the Hunger Games for so many years.

"Makes sense," I say. There was that one year where the only weapons in the arena were maces. It's good to have a general knowledge of everything.

"Maybe you can help us figure this out," says Gleam.

I think to myself, with a little arrogance, that I'll have to thank Marina later. I was able to prove myself to be valuable to the other Careers, by showing them that I can defend myself against her.

Later that day we're huddled together in front of the television. Me, Mags, Marina, and yes, even my mother. They go through each tribute's scores. Unsurprisingly, the Careers all receive the best scores. Terra, the girl who called me "kid", earns herself the highest score, a ten.

"She's one to watch," Mags says.

Fortunately there was a trident and spears to use in my room, but I can only hit the target's center so many times before it gets old. So I had to think of something on the spot. There were ropes too, so I tied a net. That got their attention. I threw the spear at the net and killed my imaginary victim. The trident is an easy weapon for me to carry. I wield it as though it's light as air. I hope this is enough for the Gamemakers.

Then my name and my picture appears on the screen. _"Finnick Odair of District Four."_

I lean forward in my seat, my hands shaking, and then I think I must be going crazy because I actually hear Caesar say, _"Nine."_

Mags is all smiles, and my mother jumps up, squeals, and claps her hands. I wonder how much of her is overacting so that she can convince me to give her a chance. It's when Marina only gets a seven that the mood changes. I expect another fight to break out, but she just leaves without a word. None of us say anything. We just watch as the scores flash by in silence. That girl from District 12, Ivy is her name, gets the lowest score of a two. I feel terrible for her, for all the tributes who can't do what Careers are capable of doing. In fact, I feel sorry for the Careers, even Marina to an extent. I just can't afford to feel sorry for myself anymore. I've done way too much of that.

The broadcast ends and I fall back against the overstuffed cushion of the couch, weary. I'm exhausted, not physically but mentally. Mags stands. "Finnick," she says, and I already know what she's going to tell me. The day is not over. I still have work to do. "We need to practice for your interview."

I stand and follow Mags. My mother places her hand on my shoulder to stop me. I consider pushing her away, but I don't.

"I wanted to take you with me," she whispers. "I wanted to so badly, but he wouldn't let me."

At first I think she's talking about my father, but then I realize it's the "he" she ran off to the Capitol with. To live a carefree life filled with endless food, glamorous parties, and a yearly competition that forced children to die for her pleasure. I guess the prince charming she went to live with didn't want to be a father.

"So you just left me anyway," I say.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Will that ever be enough?"

Probably not, but then again I could very well be dead very, very soon. I'm not really in a position to be holding grudges. Still, I don't want to forgive her. "If I get out of the arena alive, maybe you can visit me in the Victor's Village," I say. A mostly meaningless promise since I doubt I'll be the winner of this game. It occurs to me that all this thinking about my mother in general is useless. I'll be dead in a week.

It's an oddly relieving thought.

This has the desired effect on my mother. Her eyes shine with hope, and she kisses my forehead. "Let's go then," she says.

We follow Mags, and I try to think of how I can possibly be believable as the tribute whose living out his lifelong dream of meeting his mother for the first time. It's a good thing the Capitol won't ever see how our reunion _really_ went.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Wow, I can't believe it's really you!" I say.

"Get rid of that goofy smile. It's not very believable," says Mags.

"Wow, I can't believe it's really you!"

"…No. That's not right either. Maybe put emphasis on the word 'can't' or something."

"Wow, I _can't_ believe…what a slow torture this is."

"Finnick…"

I throw my hands in the air and turn to Mags. "Really, just throw me in the arena now. Can't be worse than this."

"What will make it easier?" my mother asks. She's determined to be helpful to me.

_Gee, I don't know. Maybe a mother who'd never left in the first place. That could help a little,_ I think, but of course I don't say it. I consider her question.

"No script. I hate this script. I never would say these things," I say.

Mags pinches the bridge of her nose. She's trying to be patient. "Then you write the script," she says. "Anything you truly want to say you _can't."_

I try to think of something that Mags will approve of, and that I'm also capable of saying, but it's no use. I change gears, and try to imagine that this scenario we've invented is real. What if it was true that my mom left to find a better life for me, and then had distanced herself for my sake, even if it broke her heart? I try to think what it would be like if my mother was the self sacrificing martyr we've turned her into. What would I do then?

With this line of thinking, the answer comes to me easily. I would be at a loss for words. I would just want to spend every second of every day with her, so that I could get to know who she really was. Okay, that could work. I formulate a new script in my head, one with very little dialogue.

"Okay, I'm ready to try again," I say.

We try it out and, well, it's still not very good. But it's a huge improvement from the atrocious performance I gave with Mags's script.

"It'll have to do," Mags says when the practice is over.

"I'm still not very good at this," I say.

"The Capitol is gullible. They'll want to believe that you're overcome with emotion, so that's what they'll see. You don't have to be the greatest actor in Panem. Your performance just has to be passable, which it is for now."

"I'll carry you through it," says my mother. "If you get stuck up there, I'll cover for you."

This is the first helpful thing my mother has said. "Have you ever been in front of a camera before?" I ask

"No," she says. She grins. "But I have a hunch that I'll be better than you."

* * *

><p>"Finnick Odair, the second youngest tribute this year!" Caesar says my name with one of those perfect smiles that you only ever see on television. "Have you been aware of your growing popularity? In fact, you already have so many fans advocating for your victory!"<p>

Caesar gives a grand gesture to the audience, and they go crazy. Applauding, cheering. I notice that the loudest cries are high pitched, girls scream my name. The first few rows of the audience before me are filled with mostly girls in my age range.

My acting abilities aren't exactly polished, but I do have some experience. The lies I had to tell my father in the past about my training as a Career, my attempts at pretending that I was just as motivated as the others. I channel those memories, of having to be someone else to gain approval.

I give a winning smile, similar to the one Caesar just gave me. "It's a little overwhelming, Caesar, but I do appreciate the support," I say smoothly.

"Word is that your fans' campaign for your victory is operating under the slogan, 'too pretty to die'. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know, Caesar," I say. Then I lean forward in my seat. "Why, was that campaign your doing?"

The audience applauds and cheers. Caesar gives a goofy grin and raises both hands in the air as if to say, 'I had nothing to do with it!'

"I can't imagine you would be happy if it was. I'd take a pretty young girl campaigning for my survival over an old geezer like me any day," says Caesar.

"Well, whoever came up with the idea," I say, then I turn my head to the audience. I look out at them, my eyes soft, attempting to look seductive. "When I come back to the Capitol, I'd like to meet that girl. To thank her."

The girls in the front rows go ballistic then. The amount of support I am getting from complete strangers, only because they find me good looking, is just about what is expected from people as shallow as those from the Capitol. And I'm horrible too, milking it for everything it's worth. I actually disgust myself, but I'm in no position to be picky.

"So, tell us more about life in District Four. What was it like growing up there?" Caesar asks.

Okay, this is the big moment we've been practicing for. I take a deep breath. Caesar never practiced it with us, never needed to, but of course he knows what's to come. This gimmick was approved because anything that puts on a good show for the Capitol will be approved.

"I grew up—" I start to say, but Caesar interrupts me. I don't really mind. Everything he says can only help.

"Wait, let me guess. You were a total ladies man! You had girls lining up at the door!" he says.

When the cheering dies down I say with my best charming smirk, "Only when I didn't come home smelling like fish." The audience laughs. Then I say, "Growing up in District Four means I'm always around water, but I like that. I like to swim."

"And how does your family feel about you competing in the Hunger Games?" Caesar asks, leading the big moment with a question.

"My father is thrilled. He was so proud of me when I volunteered as tribute."

"Oh, yes. We all saw that. What a moment! And your mother? What does she say?"

I stare at my shoes. "I don't have a mother. I mean, I do, but I've never met her. She went to the Capitol in hopes of earning more wealth to provide for me, but never came back. I suppose she just thought I didn't want her around, but that's not true," I say. My heart is slamming in my chest. She'll be onstage at any moment now.

The audience collectively murmurs about what a shame that is, and Caesar clucks his tongue sympathetically. "That really is too bad, Finnick, but you know, you two aren't so far away from each other now that you're here in the Capitol. She could be watching this right now, seeing her son for the first time in fourteen years."

"Yeah, she could be."

Caesar sits up a little straighter. "And what do you think she'd do then, after discovering you were in the Games? Have you ever considered the idea that she would reach out to you?"

I play into his lead, cocking my head to the side in confusion. "Not really to be honest," I say.

"I believe that she would, Finnick. I truly do," says Caesar with a knowing smile. Then he turns his head to the left side of the stage.

I force a confused expression and follow his line of vision. On the stage walks my mother, in a simple but beautiful pale blue dress with the straps tied around her neck. Her pink striped hair is pin straight and glossy. She crosses the stage with tears in the corners of her eyes.

I stay seated, with my mouth hung open in shock. I am painfully aware of just how large the audience is. They are, by the way, is louder than ever. We have definitely passed the three minute time limit of my interview, but this is such good entertainment that no one cares.

"Finnick, I believe this dazzling woman is Gloria, your mother," Caesar says.

I slowly nod, making it seem like even that is difficult for me during such an emotional moment. I stare at her in what I can only hope comes across to the audience as awe. I stand up, and then my mother and I walk crash into each other's arms. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and I know that she isn't acting. One of her hands holds the back of my head and strokes my hair. When I dare to steal a glance out at the audience from the corner of my eye, I can see that a lot of them are crying.

"All right then. Why don't you two sit down?" Caesar asks.

We both sit down, and my mother puts her arm around me. She gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and I know that this isn't for the audience's sake, but my own.

"This is quite an interview, and I've done a _lot_ of interviews!" says Caesar. "Gloria, what do you have to say to your son now? You have finally met him for the first time, and this could very well be the final meeting you ever have with him."

Gloria turns to me, wiping the tears off her face. "I want to say," she begins in a trembling voice, "that I know I made my mistakes. I never should've left you in District Four, and I have spent fourteen years living with that regret. There's been an emptiness inside of me that has only just been filled."

I bite my lip. This was supposed to be a performance, but my mother is not acting. Her speech is new to me, revised from the one she'd practiced.

"If I could do one thing in my life differently, it would no doubt be that I would stop myself from ever leaving you," my mother says. She tucks some of my hair behind my ear. "And Finnick, you _have_ to win the Games. I want you back here in the Capitol, so that I can make up for all the time I've lost. Maybe you won't ever forgive me, but I hope you will at least give me the chance to be your mother."

The audience is screaming my name, supporting my mother's claim that I have to win. They too, want her to have the chance to be my mother. I find that I can't figure out how this makes me feel. I'm moved by what she says, because I can tell that it comes from her heart. At the same time, I want to believe that it's too late, that this is all to make her look good in front of Panem.

When I stop over thinking it, the words come to me. "And I want to be your son," I say.

We hug again, and Caesar thanks us for being on the show. He's signaling for us to clear out. We hold out the hug for a few seconds longer, and then walk off the stage together. I don't know if I can ever forgive my mother for what she did, don't know if I will ever even get the chance to because of the Games. But I do know this, if I return alive then maybe I can form some sort of relationship with her. Maybe.

* * *

><p>The next day I eat breakfast at the table with Mags. My mother went home last night after saying goodbye to me; she isn't allowed to see me off to the arena. Marina is eating in her room, still refusing to even look at Mags. I'm trying to eat but I keep thinking about how this is my last meal before the arena and the food nearly forces its way back up.<p>

"Your interview went even better than I hoped it would," Mags says. She's already explained this to me, but she needs to find a way to cheer me up. "There are rumors going around that you may have more sponsors than any tribute in any Hunger Games. You're practically a celebrity already, and you haven't even made it to the arena yet."

That should've been the best news I've heard since I was reaped, but even though she's told me this twice now I don't feel much better. With or without sponsors, I only have a one in twenty-four chance of making it to my fifteenth birthday. And for that to happen, I will have to kill other children. I push my plate away from me, convinced that I will throw up my meal any second now.

"Eat," Mags insists.

I know she means well, but I have to fight the urge to throw my food at her.

"Ready to go?" Mags ask, after I choke down a few more bites and then push my plate away again.

My stomach is sick. I chug down a glass of water, but it does little to settle my stomach. I slam the glass of water down on the table, and nearly knock my chair over as I race to stand up and run to the bathroom. I crouch in front of the toilet, waiting for the moment my breakfast will come up, but it doesn't happen. I break out into a sweat, but I'm also shivering like I would on one of those rare days in District 4 when it's actually cold. I lean my head against the edge of the toilet, the cold rim feels good against the sweat on my forehead.

There's a knock on the door. "Finnick?" Mags says.

I stand up and leave the bathroom. Before Mags can say anything I say, "I'm fine. Let's go."

* * *

><p>I'm reassured when we're dressed in waterproof clothes. Have I really gotten so lucky that this is a water arena? Mags kisses my forehead and then guides me to the metal plate.<p>

"What are you holding?" she asks, looking at my enclosed fist.

I open up to show her the fishing lure Annie gave me before I left District 4. "It's a token," I say. There's a pocket on my pants. I keep it there and pull the zipper up.

"Who gave it to you?"

"This girl from District Four. Annie Cresta."

Mags smiles knowingly. "I see."

"See what?" I ask accusingly.

"Worry about it when the Games are over."

I swallow. "Let's hope I even can."

"You will," she says.

I feel my throat close. Now would be the time to say goodbye to her, but I'm not good at goodbyes. I manage to say, "Thank you, Mags. For everything."

"Of course. I'm sorry, again, about bringing your mother into this."

I shake my head. "Don't be. It was an amazing plan, just like you predicted it would be."

"Well, you acted the part better than I thought you would," Mags says, and there's a question in her statement. One that she knows is too intrusive to directly ask.

"I'm working on not hating her," I say. Then I look at Mags. "I still don't really feel comfortable considering her my mother."

Mags understands this implication. I don't think I ever realized it until now, but if I had to refer to someone as my mother, it would be Mags for the way she took me in, and cared for me so openly without expecting anything in return.

Mags smiles softly. She takes my hands in hers. "I know, dear," she says. "Good—"

A glass cylinder comes down on me. Our hands break apart. I can't bear to look at Mags as the platform rises up, and I'm thrown into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I'm thrown up fast, surrounded by darkness. For a few seconds, I see nothing but black. There's a light above me. Metaphors of lights at the end of tunnels have never been so misfitting. _I__ don't want to see it. I don't want it. I don't want to be here._ I screw my eyes shut as I enter the light.

But the Games are about to begin, so I force my eyes back open and take in the arena for the first time. It's so big, I don't know how I'll be able to process it all before I'm allowed to move. For a moment I can only register that the land is slowly swaying back and forth, and shimmering under the sunlight. Then it hits me. Water.

The arena is a giant swimming pool.

I scan the arena in amazement. We're on land, a decent sized island. Beyond that is water, water, and more water.

_"Let the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games begin!"_

Several tributes leap into the fray. I start running too, heading for the water of course.

In the center of the body of water is a stone pillar, atop that the Cornucopia. Excellent. To get anything good, you have to swim. What could be more beneficial than that? In the back of my head, I consider what Mags said about how the Gamemakers would cater the arena to my benefit because I was such a Capitol favorite...But no, these arenas are prepared months, more likely years before the reaping. There's no way they could've redesigned this into a water arena in such a short time. This is purely dumb luck.

That's okay. After recent events, I could use a little luck.

I'm just thinking this when, ironically, a large boy slams his shoulder into me and we tumble to the ground in a heap. I'm strong, but he's definitely bigger, which I guess is why he challenges me now. Take me out before I can gain the upper hand with water or a weapon.

"Hey, pretty boy!" he snarls, slugging me several times across the face. The pain paralyzes me. Marina's name calling seems to have stuck with the other tributes.

My body is so compressed, crushed under his weight. The pain is intense, and I start to think that sponsors won't have a chance to show me their support now. I'm going to be the first one to die in the Games.

I cry out as he throws another punch in my chest. My hands reach out and claw the dirt. Or at least, my right hand claws at dirt. My left hand scrapes against a decent sized rock, chipping my fingernails. _A rock!_ There's another stroke of good luck. I close my hand around the rock, literally holding on for dear life.

I'm right handed, but I still manage to bring the rock up and slam it into the side of the boy's head. He rolls over, clutching his head in pain. I scramble to my feet and take off for the water. My breathing is already ragged and it hurts just to inhale. I grit my teeth and run through the pain, which makes it worse. Once I'm nearing the water, I look behind me. Two tributes are making their way to water as well and they intentionally stop to trample over the boy who attacked me. I can't say for sure if the boy is dead, but I have a feeling they'll fire a cannon for him once the bloodbath is over.

I make it to the water, but I don't go in right away. It could be circling with muttations, or poisonous to the touch. I wait for the less perceptive tributes to dive in without caution. When they don't drown, lose limbs, or shrivel up and die, I decide it's safe. I dive into the water.

_Shit, _I think, because the water is _freezing. _This is nothing a boy from District 4 is used to. On those rare days when the sun doesn't happen to be out, half the district is in a state of despair. Basically, we're all sun worshipping wimps.

I resurface and swim for the Cornucopia. The icy coldness numbs my feet, shoots through my body, and makes my head ache. I try not to think too hard about that or my ragged breathing. Cold or not, this is where I belong. I'm meant to be in the water, and so I swim. I lick my lips and taste salt. None of us will be able to drink this.

I normally could easily out-swim anyone, but I'm slowed down by injuries. Also the shoes are not ideal for my feet to swim in, but I can't exactly leave them behind. Another boy has caught up to me. I paddle harder, faster, but the boy latches one hand around my ankle. He drags me down underwater with him. I open my eyes to see what's beneath the surface. There's nothing. I don't even see fish, just dirt on the bottom. It's deep, though. The water must be six feet deep and we're hardly far from the shore.

The boy pushes me down deeper. I don't panic, because I would bet my life that I can hold my breath longer than he can. In fact, that's why I'm doing right now, betting my life. I don't fight back, I just let him continue to hold me under.

Sure enough, he kicks his legs and starts to swim for the surface. I push ahead of him, and smash my foot down on to the top of his head. He recoils and sinks deeper under. I hold the top of his head, rendering him immobile. And then I have to watch him flail uselessly, desperate to break free of my grasp. It doesn't happen. I watch the life drain out of his body, and I know that I have drowned him. I go up for air.

I break through the surface and catch my breath. When I look around me I don't see anyone close by. I pause to take a breather, treading water. I can feel the cold in my bones. I shiver uncontrollably.

_You just have to swim a little farther, _I remind myself, eyeing the Cornucopia at the top of the stone pillar. Once there, I hope I can find a nice jacket or a blanket or something. Regardless, this break I'm taking is making me colder since my body isn't moving. I swim again, and eventually make it to the pillar.

I think this is the first time in my life that I am relieved to be out of the water and on dry land, but the cold seems to have embedded itself into my body. The bottom level of the Cornucopia has nothing on it but a set of stairs that leads to the next level. I run up them, and quickly figure out the layout. Each level has different items and of course the highest level where the Cornucopia is will have the most desirable items. I head for the top. That is where the most violence will take place, but I'm sure the Gamemakers placed anything that will provide warmth up there. I race through each level, going so fast that I only have time to retrieve a nearby knife before I reach the top.

If I thought the swim here was violent, it's nothing compared to what's happening up here. I'm start to think that this was a very, very bad idea when I spot three dead bodies, and the Careers are fighting off other tributes who were brave—or perhaps foolish—enough to come up here. There's a girl, with brown hair tied into a ponytail, and she's the only one holding her own against the Careers. I watch in astonishment as she whips around a boy who is easily twice her size, and then drives a sword into his chest. She gives him a kick, and his body topples over the edge and splashes into the water.

Then I see that the mouth of the Cornucopia has several nice spears that I can wield as well as that girl wields her sword. I start that way when a spear is thrust out horizontally in front of me, blocking the way. I skid to a halt, nearly bumping into the rod, and see that it's Marina who's holding it. She's wearing a backpack, waterproof by looks of it and I'll bet it's loaded with materials.

Looks like she's finally got the opportunity she's been waiting for, and I can see in her smile that she's excited about this. I have my knife but her spear is longer.. I resort to flight mode, turning the other way with the intention of retreating back down the stairs.

"District Four!" I hear a boy call. At least he didn't call me pretty boy, or maybe that's because he was calling to Marina. I look toward the sound of his voice—and there's a spear coming right at me.

At first I nearly duck, but then I see that he's thrown the spear for me to catch, to use against Marina. I catch it and thrust it forward, but she parries it. The boy who tossed me the spear, who I now recognize as the Career I impressed with my spear throwing skills, rushes to back me up.

"Marina!" a girl screams. I recognize the voice. It's Terra, the girl from the Training Center. "We have to go!"

Marina looks at the two of us, then back at Terra. I see that Terra has already been badly injured. She's clutching her side, which is bleeding, and leaning against that District 1 Career, Gleam, for support. I begin to piece this all together. Marina, Gleam, and Terra have formed an alliance, possibly because they all have a vendetta against me. Marina looks reluctant to leave, because she would've loved to kill me off in the bloodbath. But she also knows that Terra is injured and too good an ally to risk losing. She retreats back to her allies. Marina and Gleam help Terra down the stairs. Once their gone, it's only me, the Career who helped me, and the girl with the sword.

We all raise our weapons at the same time, each of us waiting for one of the other two to attack. None of us say a word. I don't want to fight them. I need allies, especially now that Marina has joined with Gleam and Terra.

Finally I speak up first. "There are plenty of weapons still left to go around," I say, indicating the horn of the Cornucopia.

The boy nods. "Right," he says. He lowers his weapon, signaling the formation of my proposed alliance. It's not a bad deal for him. I'm not the strongest tribute, but I can guarantee the most sponsors.

"I'll share with you, Nolan," the girl says, nodding to the Career. She points her blade at me. "But what do I have to gain from joining forces with pretty boy? What do I get in return, a makeover?"

I don't know what to say, now that I'm put on the spot. I don't need to, though, because just then a silver parachute floats down in front of me. I catch it and open it. Inside are six biscuits. I inhale a warm, delicious scent. These aren't just any biscuits, they're premium ones made in the Capitol. Each one, I can see, is a different flavor; garlic, honey, cheddar.

This is ridiculously early for a sponsor gift. There's most likely food tight here in the Cornucopia, but this gift sends a message: I will want for nothing. In some ways, I feel a crushing guilt. Still, this is the Hunger Games. I don't have time to feel bad or question the good luck I have.

I hold out the biscuits to the other two. "Six biscuits," I say, "Two each. What do you say?"

Nolan turns to the girl, and we both wait for her response. She lowers her sword and stares at the biscuits. She had to have already known that I am going to receive the most gifts, but seeing it actually happen this early in the Games must sway her. She nods. "Two each."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Usually I post a little earlier in the week. Sorry for the late update. **

Chapter 8

We stay at the top of the Cornucopia after the initial bloodbath, figuring it's safer this high up where we can spot enemies before they come. We can also get the layout of the entire arena. It is almost all water, with small islands spaced out at an even distance from where we are in the center.

As the day goes on, the bruises that I got from that boy who nearly killed me at the start of the Games still ache but most of the pain subsides. I actually got to learn a little bit more about my fellow tributes. Well, the girl at least. True to Career form, Nolan is talkative but only when it comes to killing strategies. I learn that the girl's name is Arielle. She's from District 8, and the living conditions there make me realize how lucky I am to live in the wealthy District 4. Every day after school Arielle spends at least six hours, often more, slaving away in a textile producing factory. I've seen District 8 during Victory Tours, and it's hideous. Polluted, foul smelling air, and no greenery to be found. She shrugs off any surprise I show from hearing about her life, and I come to respect the fact that she has no desire for anyone to pity her.

I sincerely hope that someone else kills her so that I don't have to.

It's about two hours after the sun goes down that we all agree to leave the top of the stone pillar. It's simply to cold this high up. We are still wet and shivering violently. The other Career alliance, and random tributes, got away with much of the materials, but we still have those two blankets, spears, a few hunting knives, a full water bottle, and a few apples. Not a bad pack up as much as we can carry with us into the waterproof backpack we found.

We throw it all into the backpack. It's not too heavy, but I know it will feel much heavier when we're swimming. Despite this, I offer to carry the backpack since I'm the best swimmer to begin with. Nolan and I strap spears onto our backs and Arielle packs her sword. We get to the bottom level of the pillar and stand at the edge. None of us go in right away.

"It's going to be freezing, even worse than before," Arielle says.

"We have no choice," I say. "If we get to an island, we can find shelter in case it rains. And more importantly, we can find the resources to make a warm fire."

"What if there are things in the water?" Arielle asks. She's referring to muttations.

"We ruled that option out…sort of," I say. Since after the bloodbath a cannon hasn't gone off since, we can assume that the other tributes all managed to safely swim to one of the islands. The best we can do is assume that at least one person would've been taken down by muttations had there been any in the water.

"What if they only come out at night?" Arielle says.

I shudder, looking down at the water as it gently laps against the edge of the stone platform. "That's a risk we have to take. We can't stay here."

Nolan pushes past both of us, which is unnecessary. "We're leaving," he announces, before diving in.

I look to Arielle. "Ready?" I ask. She nods reluctantly, and we both jump in after Nolan.

The water is even colder, but less shocking since I expected it to be this cold. We picked an island to the northeast since it seemed to have the most trees from the top of the stone pillar, and we will need wood to start a fire. It's a long swim and at one point I tire out and pass on the backpack to Nolan. Then we switch back. The pain is agonizing, and it feels like we've been swimming for forever when we finally reach the island.

I reach the shore and collapse onto the ground, feeling the soft grass beneath my skin. Arielle and Nolan lay beside me. After resting for a few minutes, we venture into a woods. Just as we find a spot to settle down, the anthem of the Capitol starts. I look up as the seal appears in the sky.

Then the headshots and district numbers appear. I expect it to skip straight to someone from District 3, or maybe 5, but then Sprinkle's face appears in the sky.

"Sprinkle's gone?" I say, surprised.

Nolan gives me a simple, firm nod. I doubt he took her out himself, which means he must've witnessed it. He offers me no details and frankly, I don't care to know them.

Then it skips to District 3, which means that Marina and Gleam managed to keep Terra alive despite her wounds. Both tributes from 3 are dead. Skipping over District 4 tells me, unsurprisingly, that Marina has survived the night as well. The boy and girl from 5 are both dead. Then there's the boy from District 6, the one that was trampled after I hit him in the skull with a rock. The boy I drowned shortly after that is from District 8, Arielle's district. When his headshot appears I realize that I was responsible for two deaths tonight, one indirectly and one directly. That thought hangs over my head and I find it difficult to pay attention to the rest of the deaths. I barely register that both tributes from 11 are gone, and the boy from 12.

"Ten dead," Arielle says under her breath. Then, "Edmund…"

"He came with you from District Eight?" I say.

She nods.

"I killed him," I blurt, for reasons I can't explain. I think part of me wants her to condemn me for it, to do something sensible when nothing about being here makes any sense. "He tried to drown me on my way to the Cornucopia, and so I overpowered him. I drowned him."

Arielle, she only shrugs. "I didn't know him until we were both reaped," she says. Not quite the reaction I was looking for, but I guess Arielle is better at handling this than I am.

Still shivering, I unpack the backpack and take out the blankets. It occurs to me then that the little girl from District 12, Ivy, has survived this far. That, along with the fact that Sprinkle hasn't, is pretty strange.

"I think we can all agree that we desperately need to make a fire," I say through my chattering teeth. The other two nod their heads in agreement. "But we have to be careful about giving away our location."

"We'll have to have someone standing guard at all times because if we're going to make a fire, we risk giving away our location," says Arielle.

"Oh, who cares? No one is going to attack us once they realize who we are," Nolan says.

"Unless it's Marina's group," I point out.

All three of us talk at once, weighing the risks of making a fire against the benefits. We are all trying to talk over one another when the sky rumbles. A downpour begins without warning, and of course the raindrops on our skin feel more like little shards of ice. I race to shove the blankets back into the backpack. Nolan swears and kicks a rock in frustration.

"New plan. We need to find shelter," says Arielle.

We run through the dense woods, covering our heads. The trees provide some protection from the rain, but not much.

"We're just…not going to be dry for the whole damn Games," I mutter.

"It's starting to look that way," Arielle says. Then she points to something ahead of her. "Look!"

Past some more trees is a small cave. We run for toward it.

I run ahead and stop at the entrance. It's too dark to see much, but small enough that I can tell there's no one in there. "It's safe," I say to the other two, and we all head inside.

It's small, but tall enough that we can all stand in it without hitting our heads against the top. We'll be sitting close together tonight, but no one really cares. We're just relieved to be out of the rain. The dirt floor is dry and green vines are tangled on the walls.

"Okay, there's no hole to let the smoke out, so I think we may have to do without a fire tonight," I say.

Arielle groans. "At this point, I just want to get some sleep," she says.

I nod. "At least we're out of the rain. We'll switch off taking guard for the night. Nolan, do you want—"

That's all I get out before one of the vines snaps off the wall and wraps tightly around my neck.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I think we found the muttations.

They're vines that are alive and currently draining the life out of me. Shortly after the first one had wrapped around my neck, the other one pulled the spear out of my hand. That a vine disarmed me is almost as terrifying as the one that is choking me, because it makes me it makes me think that these plants have human intelligence.

Two vines leap off the walls, wrap around Arielle's wrists, and then pull her against the wall of the cave. Another one slithers around her neck. Others still are strangling Nolan now. I grip the thick vine that's around my own neck, pulling and clawing at it desperately. I start to panic. I thrash and claw and wheeze until I realize…I have a knife. My hand scrambles for the knife as another vine snakes down the wall and tries to wrap itself around my hand. I move my hand out of the way, and then bring it back down. I grab the knife but the vine still latches around my arm. I can't get a breath in, and my vision fogs. I'm about to pass out.

Knowing that I will lose the battle, I manage to toss the knife and catch it in my other arm. A different vine reaches for my other arm, but I'm faster. I swing the knife up and stab it into the vine that's around my neck. I twist the knife in deep enough to tear the vine, but am careful not to damage my own neck. Thick, foul smelling green fluid bursts out of the vine and splatters onto my face. It's revolting, but the vine releases me. I fall to my knees, gulping down air and choking at the same time.

"Finnick!" cries Nolan.

I look up and see him weakly toss me a knife while vines wrap around his ankles. They pull him to the ground as I grab the knife. I now have two. I raise both my hands and begin blindly hacking away at the vines in front of me. Then all I can see is green, all I can smell is that horrible green ichor.

Through the thick green, I can just barely make out Nolan and Arielle, hear Arielle scream as a vine wraps around her arm. Nolan is still tied up on the ground, and Arielle is using her free arm to slash the vines apart with her sword.

A vine wraps around my waist and the pull is shockingly strong. I fly backwards all the way across the cave and slam against the wall, hard. My body rattles upon impact, pain shooting through me and numbing my limbs. My head takes an awful lot of damage as well. I blindly bring the knife down and slice it at the vine across my waist. I'm released, and I tumble to the ground in a heap.

My head is throbbing, the world spinning. I'm dizzy and sick. I moan, clutching the top of my head in pain. _Get up, get up! Get up!_ A voice screams in my head, but the pain in my head overpowers me.

I force myself up, leaning on my elbows, still mostly on the ground. But it has taken me so long just to lift my head, that Arielle and Nolan have already finished the job for me. The vines have all been chopped to pieces. The cave reeks of vine juice, and the mangled vines litter the cave.

Arielle makes a sound that's part disgusted, part whimpering. There's a shredded piece of vine wrapped around her wrist, the tail end of it cut off and dripping green fluid. I tell my body to stand and give her one of my knives to cut it, but my body won't listen.

Nolan stands over me. "You're the genius who said this cave is safe?" he says.

I open my mouth to respond, cough uncontrollably. When I finish, I say, "Safe from people. Did I not mention that the vines are alive? My bad. I'll be sure to next time."

"Oh, that's real funny," says Nolan. Then he actually snarls at me. He kicks his foot against my side, not too hard but enough to cause pain.

I grunt, trying not to let him see just how much that hurts my already mangled body. "I'm glad you think so," I say. I look up at him and fix him with a glare. "Smile for the cameras, Nolan," I say sweetly, reminding him of how much power I have. How the Capitol would hate to see me, their beloved tribute, abused by some jerk Career.

This makes Nolan angrier, which I guess shouldn't surprise me. He takes the spear he'd used to chop the vines and brings it down. I flinch, thinking that he intends to stab my hand, but he doesn't. He brings the spear down right in front of me as a threat.

"You want to say that again?" Nolan asks, eyes ablaze with fury.

"Guys, stop it!" Arielle cries.

Ignoring her, I spit, not on Nolan's boots but right next to them. I scramble to my feet as Nolan brings the spear down again, the tip piercing the ground where my hand was moments ago. He was going to attack me this time.

Furious, I drop the knives in favor of retrieving the spear I'd dropped earlier. If Nolan wants to end the alliance and kill me now, then so be it. He thrusts his spear at me, and I knock it away with my own. Even the impact of that hit is too much on my exhausted body. If that vine hadn't wrapped around my waist, hadn't pulled me so hard…

But it happened, and now I'm too weak to put up a good fight. Nolan will win this, he will kill me. If that's the case, I will fight until the very end. I won't let him have the satisfaction of my surrender. We both point the spears at each other, waiting for the other one to attack next.

"That's enough!" Arielle says. She runs to the space between our spears, facing Nolan with her sword out. That's smart, because we all know that he's more likely to attack her in this vulnerable position. "You two are idiots. You're going to kill each other now? You're both too valuable! Neither of you can afford to lose the other…and more importantly _I_ can't afford to lose either one of you. There's another Career alliance out there, and I bet they're not stupid enough to take each other down."

I lower my spear first. Arielle doesn't have to tell me twice. I had just resigned myself to death. A few seconds later, Nolan reluctantly lowers his spear.

Arielle takes on a matriarchal tone, speaking slowly and annunciating every word; as though we we're small children who can't comprehend anything. "We need someone to stand guard at all times while the other two rest." Then Arielle picks up one of my knives and cuts the vine off her wrist.

"You have another love letter," Nolan says to me, looking past me.

I turn around and see a parachute land in front of the entrance to the cave. I go outside, relieved to inhale air that is not polluted with vine juice. Outside it's windy. I shiver against the breeze. The box is large and square. I quickly open it and find not one, but three jackets.

A breathless, strangled laugh escapes from me. These coats are warm, fur lined, and soft. This gift is priceless, and my sponsors were even smart enough to buy coats for the other two so as not to further mess up my already shaky alliance. The smallest is for Arielle, the largest for Nolan. A smaller parachute lands next to me. This one is a tiny box, inside is a little plastic container with two purple pills. Painkillers specially designed by the Capitol, for my head. For the first time, I have the decency to feel guilty for the other tributes. What must it be like to have to get through these Games with no help? To suffer when you're cold, when you're in pain, and pray that someone will maybe solve one of your numerous problems?

I can't dwell on this for long, because we have to set up a guard system before someone finds us. I'm so eager to feel better that instead of going back inside for a water bottle I dry swallow the pills. They are heavy going down, and I regret it. Though seconds later the pain eases and I forget all about it. Then I gather the jackets and bring them inside.

"I come bearing gifts," I say and even Nolan's face softens with relief.

* * *

><p>We were going to wait to find food, but now all of us are hungry again. We take turns standing guard, hunting, and sleeping in the filthy cave. I find some fish swimming around in the water on this island. I inspect them first, just to be safe. I cut them open and examine their innards. They look just like any fish you can find in District 4. We make a meal out of them and a rabbit that Arielle finds in the woods. We even indulge in our apple supply, cutting one up and dividing the slices among the three of us. Since all of us are also dehydrated we pass around the water bottles. Night passes and turns into day.<p>

We essentially do the same thing the next day. We hunt, fish, collect water and purify it thanks to another sponsor's gift, and rest. That evening the Capitol seam appears. The girls from District 6 and 9 are dead. It was probably a slow day for the audience, but now we're down to eight. We can expect something to happen soon, to shake things up.

I stand guard that night, watching over the cave while Arielle hunts and Nolan sleeps. I get sick of looking at the same trees for hours so at one point I go toward the shore, the cave still close enough that I can watch over it. I stare at the water. It misleadingly looks so similar to the ocean back in District 4. I begin thinking of home, of my father. I don't think I will win, but maybe it's better if I didn't. I've spent my whole life training for these Games that I never wanted to be a part of. Surely someone has done something more useful with their life, is more deserving to return to their district.

I'm pondering this when suddenly the water shifts to the west. It's a strangely severe shift, and a frighteningly unnatural motion that only the Gamemakers could create. Because there's so much water moving so far at once, the sound is loud, like when the ground rumbles during an earthquake. The water is pulled away from this island, the waves now crashing farther away from where I stand.

Then something else happens. From somewhere, I don't know where, more water is added to the arena. Flooding begins and the water rises one level, and I can see it submerge the first level of the pillar that the Cornucopia is atop. Our island is safe, but who knows for how long?

When my shift is done, I tell Arielle about the flooding.

"Well, it's no surprise, really. We had to expect the Gamemakers to mess with the water levels," she says.

"It flooded the first level of the pillar. Do you think any of the other islands are flooded right now?" I ask.

Arielle shakes her head helplessly. "I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised if one of them was."

"If that's the case, then it's probably only a matter of time before it happens here," I say.

There's a beat of silence. We can't predict when it'll flood our island, or any of the other ones in the arena. We have no way of knowing where it's safe to be and where we could drown.

Arielle frowned. "I'll keep a close eye on the water," she says, because there's nothing else we can do. "You get some rest, Finnick."

I rest through the remainder of the night, my body still sore and my head aching, but those purple pills have done the job for the most part. I make a pillow out of the waterproof backpack, but I can't sleep. I toss and turn, haunted by recent events. Killing two kids, nearly being strangled to death. When I think about how the remainder of the Games will go, I feel a different kind of cold, one the jacket can't protect me from.

"Finnick," I hear Arielle whisper at the entrance of the cave once sunlight begins creeping into it. "It's my turn to rest. You awake?"

_No._ How could my time already be up, when I didn't sleep for a second? I stubbornly keep my eyes shut and don't move, pretending to be asleep. I hear Arielle's footsteps as she approaches me.

"Finnick," she whispers my name again. Then I sense her crouch down next to me. "All right," she says, and I swear there's something like affection in her voice, "but only for a little longer.

I'm about to tell her that I'm awake, that she can rest and I'll do my job. That's when I feel her push some of my hair out of my eyes. It tickles, but I stay still. Then, I feel her soft lifts give my forehead a tender kiss.

Only after she leaves do I finally drift to sleep.

* * *

><p>I wake up after a short nap. I can't say for sure, but it couldn't have been more than an hour. I touch my cheek, half convinced that the kiss was just a dream but no, it happened. It'd be easier if it was just a dream though. What am I supposed to do?…Well, I'm supposed to do nothing, of course, but how can I just ignore that?<p>

Apparently I can't, because I spend the rest of the day thinking about it. That night after I finish my turn hunting I return to our spot and find Arielle at the shore, washing the green slime off her body. Her jacket is on the sand next to her.

I join her. "Hey," I say. I kneel down next to her, take off my jacket, and dip my hands into the chilled water. I cup water into my hand and let it pour down my arm. The green slime is hardened and crusted onto the hair on my arms. Disgusted, I scrape it off with my nails.

"Feels better doesn't it?" Arielle says.

"Yes," I say, realizing that I should've done this sooner. With the layer of dirt and grime that covers me and cakes under my fingernails, I figured green slime didn't matter much. But it's nice to feel just a little cleaner, just a little more normal.

"I was sleeping. Were there any deaths today?" Arielle asks.

"No, not today."

"And only two deaths yesterday. Something will happen soon. The audience is probably getting restless."

_Or not, if they enjoyed that kiss,_ I think, and then it occurs to me that maybe that was the only reason Arielle kissed me in the first place, to win over the audience even more. Well, she hardly needed to do that. We've wanted for nothing in the arena, thanks to me. Maybe she wanted to be extra careful, though?

I'm embarrassed to admit that I have very little experience with girls. I've kissed a few in District 4, but I hardly understand how they work, how to determine whether or not one likes you. But even I could hear in her voice a genuine affection. Still, I can't rule out the possibility that she's just a really good actress.

"Thank you, by the way," I say, deciding that the best way to find out is talk to her and see if I can pick up on more clues. "For stopping that fight that Nolan and I had in the cave. Nolan would've killed me for sure."

Arielle shrugs. "I need both of you alive," she says.

I don't have time to question how sincere her response is, because then I hear the rushing water. The ground beneath us rumbles. We both look out at the water, and can see a large wave forming. I'm about to scold myself for not leaving this island, but then again how could I have predicted that we'd be next?

"We have to get off this beach!" I say. It's the worst possible place to be at this time.

We grab our jackets and run, shrugging into them as we go. I race into the cave, screaming at Nolan to get up. He stumbles out of the cave and follows us. We search for higher ground, running as far away from the shore as possible. A small hill appears past a crowding of trees and Arielle and I hike up it. By that time we've run so much that I can't feel my legs. We both have to stop. I bend over with my hands on my knees, greedily gulping down air.

"Where's Nolan?" Arielle asks between breaths.

I look down the hill, but I don't see him. I don't remember losing him. He must've taken off in a different direction. We both peer between the trees to get a view of the water downhill. The wave is already huge, barreling toward the shore. We have just seconds before the wave crashes. When it does, it will swallow this entire island. I look to Arielle. She holds both hands over her mouth in shock, realizing the same thing that I just had.

Before I can decide whether or not it's a good idea, I run in front of Arielle and wrap my arms around her torso. My back will take the majority of the initial hit for her. I'm going to hold onto her for as long as I can, because I'm the stronger swimmer. If Arielle wants to survive this, she has the best chance if she stays with me.

I look back. The wave is about to hit. I take as deep a breath as I can just before the wave crashes into the island. Then it hits and everything is a disorienting blur of rushing water. My body tumbles as if it weighed nothing. The wave does what it wants with me.

I manage to have one clear though: my hands are empty. I have already lost Arielle, and I'm helpless as the current sweeps me away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The water thrashes, throws me like I weigh nothing, and the whole time I cannot breathe. I can hold my breath underwater abnormally long, but I know that I have to figure out which way is up and which way is down soon, because I can't hold out much longer. My lungs tighten, burning. I thrash desperately but that only makes it worse.

Eventually I hit the hard, sandy island, and the water drags me, my knees scraping against the dirt and pebbles. The current slows down after that. It still drags me, but now not so much that I can't swim. Every inch of my body is sore and weak. It's a struggle to resurface, but as soon as I do I take in precious air. I look around for Arielle, shivering. My teeth are chattering so hard at one point I bite down on my lower lip, tasting blood.

I scan my surroundings, trying to figure out where I've ended up. I'm east of the pillar, the second level of which is now flooded. The first level was submerged last night around the same time…And that's when it hits me. Starting with the second night here, the water has submerged one level of the pillar, and one of the islands has flooded.

That means that in the next two nights the remaining two islands will sink, and only the top of the Cornucopia will stay standing.

I swallow. Will they flood the Cornucopia after that? Will this entire arena just be an endless body of water and they'll wait for the remaining tributes to drown until they have a winner?

"Arielle?" I call out to the nothingness that surrounds me. I suddenly am desperate to find her, so that I don't have be alone with this terrifying realization.

"Nolan?" Yes, at this point I will even take Nolan. No response. _"Arielle!"_ I scream.

I unzip my jacket. Soaked as it is, it provides little warmth and will slow me down when I swim. I paddle away, leaving the jacket behind and screaming Arielle and Nolan's names until my throat is hoarse.

"Nolan!" I call out again.

"Finnick!" someone calls back. The voice is high, female. Arielle.

"Arielle! Arielle!" I call. Turning around in circles. Then I see her hand in the air, waving at me. I can just make her out under the pale glow of the moon.

"Over here, Finnick!" Arielle says.

"Arielle! Stay there!" I say. Better I swim to her.

I dive under. Somewhat used to the motions of the current by now, I feel a little bit like my old self again. It's not exactly like it is when I swim in District 4—where the water doesn't control me, but rather I effortlessly control myself—but at least I'm not struggling as hard.

I resurface, spitting water out of my mouth. I reach her and see that she is clutching the branch of a tree for dear life. She has a manic look to her. Her hair has fallen out of her ponytail, surrounding her in thick, damp strands. Her skin is so pale and her lips are blue. She was wearing her sword sheath before the wave hit but now it's gone; probably lost in the water along with all our other valuables.

We embrace, and it's purely for practical reasons. . We are just both so unbearably cold that we are desperate for even a trace of body warmth. Her body isn't warm though. It's just cold and wet. I rub her arms furiously, and she does the same for me.

"I can't feel my feet. It's so c-cold," she says, teeth chattering.

"What do we do now?" I say. Along with nearly drowning, we have lost the cave that sheltered us, all our sponsor gifts and supplies. Even Arielle's jacket, which she didn't get rid of, is completely useless. We have nothing.

"We have to find a new island," Arielle says.

"Did you figure out the pattern? Every night the water level rises and an island submerges," I say.

She nods slowly. "I see."

"So how are we supposed to figure out which freaking island is going to go tomorrow?"

"The first one was on the other side of the pillar," Arielle says. "The next one was on this side. So…it'll flood back to the other side?"

I shrug. "The island on the other side is way too far for us to swim to. We'll never make it there. Not in this condition."

So we swim to the island that is in the southeast corner of the arena, across from us. The swim is agony. Arielle, who got more beaten up by the tidal wave than I did, is exhausted, and half the time I have to carry her through the swim. At the very least, the closer we get the lower the water level since the flooding was from where we were.

When we reach the island, we keep moving. We don't stop until we find the resources to make a fire. Since all our weapons are gone, the only thing we have to protect ourselves are some large rocks we can throw at people. There are more caves on this island, but we can't risk another encounter with those vines. We sit in front of the fire, shivering and miserable. Still the warmth of the fire makes it so much more bearable that neither of us care about the risk of revealing our location. Arielle hangs her coat up on a nearby tree branch to dry.

"I think you can give up on that coat," I say.

"I'm not ready to," Arielle mutters.

I throw my head back and call into the sky, "Hey, sponsors! Why so quiet when we need you now more than ever?"

Arielle laughs joylessly.

"I wonder if Nolan made it out," I say.

"At one point after we were caught in the wave I thought I heard a cannon go off," Arielle says.

That was probably him. Our alliance is down to two. It's both a good and terrible thing. Nolan would've been hard to take down ourselves, butt he's a strong ally to lose.

"I guess we're better off just the two of us," I say, though I don't necessarily think that this is true. I'm just trying to stay positive. "I'd rather be with you than him."

"Yeah," Arielle says, staring into the fire thoughtfully.

"And you'd rather it be me," I blurt like an idiot before I can stop myself.

I hope that she thinks I just mean that Nolan was difficult, but her head jerks up from the fire to look at me. She knows what I meant, that I suspect she has feelings for me. I have the decency to feel bad for about ten seconds, but then I realize that it won't matter in a few days. Both of us, or only one of us if that person's really lucky, will be dead and that'll be it.

"You think that I…like you," she says carefully.

"No, it's nothing like that," I say.

I'm throwing her a line. She can pretend she believes me, I can pretend I never suspected anything. And then we'll both die and it won't make a difference.

"Were you awake when I kissed you in the cave?" she asks.

I cringe. "Well, I wasn't…_not_ awake."

She slaps my knee, though gentle enough that it doesn't hurt. "I knew it! You jerk."

"How'd you know?"

"Because you looked like a moron when you came down to the shore after," she says.

"I'm sorry," I say, though I'm actually not exactly sure what I've apologized for.

I sigh and rub my thighs, attempting to will some warmth into them. That's when one of my hands goes to my pocket, suddenly remembering the token that Annie Cresta gave me. I assumed it'd be gone, just like everything else. But miraculously when I open up the zipper, I find it there. I take it out of my pocket and stare at the little koi fish in disbelief.

"What's that?" Arielle asked.

"A token I got before going into the arena," I say.

"Who gave it to you?"

I consider lying to preserve her feelings but, again, at least one of us will be dead so it doesn't matter. "This girl I know."

Arielle smiled sadly. "I should've known there was someone else. You're too good looking for there not to be."

"It's not like that," I say. Then I remember Mags's knowing smile when I mentioned it to her. "At least…I don't think it is."

We drop the conversation then, but I'm still stuck on it. I think about Annie, and how I thought she was pretty. Arielle is too, but in a harsher, more intense sort of way. Annie is the shy little girl, proper and respectful; the one you'd bring home to introduce to your parents. Arielle is the kind of girl who would be too much to handle; intense, passionate, exhilarating. She's the kind of girl your mom would hate, if she was traditional like that, and your dad would probably get a kick out of. Suppose I had my choice between the two, which kind of girl would I prefer?

Not for the first time since the reaping, I feel deeply saddened by the many things I will never get to do. I'll never turn eighteen, become an adult. I'll never get to break away from my father or tell him off, or maybe even set things right. They say the human brain is fully developed at the age of twenty-five. Mine never will be.

I'll never fall in love. I'll never get married or have children. I'll never get to decide if I even _want_ those things in life. And now, with two girls who I at least suspect would like me enough to get to know me better, I'll never get to pick one. I won't be able to attempt dating or see if I'm as horrible at it as I suspect. Maybe in a different place, in a different world, I could've loved Arielle. But I just don't know anything anymore.

Arielle and I are too cold and miserable to say much the rest of the night. We'd had plenty of rest before the island sunk, but now we're exhausted. Arielle suggests we take turns resting and guarding again.

"I'll take the first watch," she says.

"What's the point?" I mutter. "We've lost Nolan and all of our supplies. The sponsors must've given up on me, which was about all I was good for. As far as I know, Marina's alliance is going just fine. We're out of the Games."

Arielle doesn't say anything for a long time.

"I'll take the first watch. You go sleep," she says tightly.

I'm no help, telling her things she already knows. I follow her lead and just drop it. "Thanks," I say.

There's nothing to make a bed with, so I just stretch out on the dirt and grass. It doesn't take long before I fall into a fitful sleep ridden with bad dreams.

* * *

><p>In the morning Arielle shakes me awake. "Finnick! Wake up. You won't believe what the sponsors gave you now," she says.<p>

I sit up and close my eyes against the bright sun. I rub them, stand, and follow her over to a long, thin box.

"Remember when you were wondering why didn't receive any gifts yesterday? It wasn't that they weren't giving you anything. It was that they were collecting money to give you this," says Arielle.

The ribbon is already untied since Arielle opened it. I pull off the top and gasp at the beauty of what's inside. A trident.

It's brand new, with three prongs on one end. I take it out of the box. It feels so natural in my hands. This has got to be one of the most expensive gifts any tribute has ever received.

"Arielle," I say, "if the islands are flooding that means the survivors are all going to end up on one island eventually."

"Yes…" she says, eying that trident with both excitement and fear.

"Perfect. If we can survive the next flood, then the rest of the tributes will be sitting ducks," I say. I point the trident at the shore, as though expecting one of the other tributes will walk into it right now. "I spoke too soon when I said we were out of the Games."


End file.
